My beloved is cooking me a sweet potato chilli.
I know this because he’s told me. I also know this because for the last hour he’s been in the kitchen prepping. The chopping and washing and stirring and weighing (not necessarily in that order) haven’t gone unnoticed as I sit in the lounge trying to relax. I’m grateful for the effort.
But the thing is … sweet potato isn’t my favourite food. So what do I do? Remind him of that and order in a pizza, or brave the dish and send mumbled accolades and positive strokes through mouthfuls I might be finding difficult to swallow? I’m really not one to purposely try to hurt someone else’s feelings … especially my nearest and dearest’s.
There seems no option. Grin and bear I must. It might even be nice. I do like chilli flavoured things after all, and I hear there’s going to be some soured cream with it … always a plus. I am known, after all, for my positivity and optimism.
Oops, got to dash … the oven timer has gone off and it sounds as if my fate will soon be decided.
I hope I’ll be swallowing all my negative thoughts. Openness to change and something new is, after all, something to be admired.