Gut Rumbles
 

February 06, 2008

Bread bowl

Originally published December 20, 2003

Every time I think that I have Jennifer figured out, she throws me another curve ball. She brought Quinton to my house on Friday evening an hour earlier than I expected her to arrive. Usually, she drops Quinton off in my driveway with his gear for the weekend, and she simply splits, without a word exchanged between us.

Quinton didn't go to basketball practice that evening because he has a cold (it doesn't appear to be very bad to me). Jennifer came to the door to deliver Quinton's medicine in case he needed it this weekend (he hasn't). She also offered me a bowl of banana bread and pound cake that she baked for the holidays.

Why did she do that?

I wouldn't take it from HER. Quinton grabbed the bread bowl and put it on the coffee table. "You'll really like the banana bread," he said. "Mama says that it's one of your favorites."

Yes, I love banana bread and I'm the one who bought Jennifer the bread-maker several years ago for a Christmas present. We baked a lot of exotic breads back on the mini-farm. I once loved the way the kitchen smelled with home-made bread baking.

I won't take a bite of what she brought. I'm allowing the boys to eat every bit of it, and what they don't eat, I'll feed to my goddam dog. I don't know why she brought that shit over here in the first place. She won't even talk to me anymore.

I won't tell Quinton why I refuse to eat the bread (it's probably very good), but it's a matter of principle to me. I don't want a damn thing that woman has to offer.

I've eaten enough shit that she baked special for me.

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