The ketchup.

I have this to say: it must suck to be a picky person. And by "a picky person," I mean specifically "ANM." Geez. The poor man is always having to ask what comes on stuff and ask for exceptions and remember to get things. Me? I take what I get and I like it. I have no aversions to mayonnaise or fry sauce (Utahn, born and bred). I don't shudder at the sight of lettuce or cold cheese. I never pick things off pizza.

Tonight we got hamburgers at a local place. And since we swear allegiance to the drive thru when at all possible, ANM has to ask first, "Can you tell me what comes on a mushroom swiss burger?" through the annoying 20-year-old intercom system. A non-native English speaker is like, "gwat?" And thus it begins. Then he has to tell them multiple times what we wants and doesn't want, have them repeat it back to him, etc., etc., ad nauseum. When we finally get home and all set up to consume our gourmet meal, he realizes: he forgot to ask for ketchup. It doesn't bother me that we've been out of ketchup for roughly six months. I take whatever they give me. But ANM goes queasy at the idea of fry sauce and so thus his meal is ruined.

It's kind of pathetic and tragic, really, the way he can't enjoy anything except his handful of acceptable and warm foods.

And in conclusion, my main worry right now is that his extreme and unwarranted pickiness will rub off on the baby. I will end up having two (or, perhaps, some day in the far distant future, more) people who look at normal food products with fear and loathing in their eyes and thus I will be forced to eat Kraft macaroni and cheese three times a week for the rest of my life. Now THAT is something to inspire fear and loathing.