She eats like a maniac.
She reminds me of her father.
Once the milk is at hand, she starts grunting and kicking her feet.
Like she can’t wait another second.
Like I don’t feed her every time she’s hungry.
Like there is a litter of little runts she’s going to have to share with.
I keep telling her she’s the only one, but my logic doesn’t affect her.
Our first year of marriage, Ben and I ate a salad with almost every meal we cooked. Initially, to cut down on dishes, we ate straight out of the serving bowl. But I quickly learned sharing salad with Ben was like lions going after a fresh carcass—I was going to have to get mean and a lot bigger if I wanted my fair portion.
The crazy thing is that Ben doesn’t even like salad. He just wants it out of the way so he can get started on the part that counts.
Again, twisted logic.
Is that inheritable?
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