Sunday, July 17, 2005


My husband believes condiments are actual foods. Entire food groups, even. I live in a household where, "Hey, want some bread with that butter?" is an actually legitimate question. My husband butters toast the way other people do drywall. First, all holes, nooks, and crannies in the toast must be spackled solid with butter, so the toast has a uniform top surface. Then he must spread a thick layer of butter over top ("mudding" the wall) so it has a uniform appearance. The butter must stretch to all corners and leave no portion of bread visible.

I buttered my toast like this once. Just once, when I was seven, mom was out of town, and dad foolishly allowed me to butter my own toast. Crazy times!

Anyway, typically he's worst about butter, ketchup ("I put ketchup on my ketchup!"), and syrup. (God forbid a single fry miss out on a full-ketchuped existence, or any square of that waffle not be filled with syrup. The world could quite conceivably end.)

I've gotten used to the fact that my butter purchasing, which I expected would double or so when I got married, has, in fact, quadrupled. I can cope with the fact that the gag-inducing sickly-sweet smell of syrup invades my house every weekend morning. I can even accept the ketchup-on-everything theory of life, although it really frosts my cookies when I go to all the trouble of cooking something good and well-seasoned, like a frittata, and he dumps ketchup all over it before even tasting it.

But suddenly he is branching out. He has discovered microwaveable toppings for ice cream, which frankly smell six times as vile as syrup and make me want to vacate the house until the awful, awful smell of warm sugar and carcinogens dissipates. (This is the other thing I don't get - why must he microwave everything? Bread, cookies, syrup, topping ... why??) Jam and jelly, in all their myriad flavors, spread in layers so thick they actually look like architectural creations on his toast. And, by far the grossest of all, marshmallows. I'm not a marshmallow fan, but I don't mind if other people want them in s'mores or hot chocolate. That's fine.

But Mr. McGee came home from the supermarket the other day (I asked him to pick up a couple things for me - always a mistake) with the jumbo bag of mini-marshmallows. Then I saw him eating corn pops with a thick layer of marshmallows on top. (Better and better, he insisted this was both healthier AND cheaper than buying marshmallow cereal on its own. Riiiiiiiight.) And then, later on, he was eating toast - with butter - with jelly - with marshmallows on top of the jelly.

I don't care what else you put them on, marshmallows do not belong on toast!

It's gotten so bad he actually bought a condiment he had no idea the purpose of, or what it tasted like. It's still sitting, forlorn, in our fridge, this "Pick-a-peppa" sauce.

I live in dread that one day I'll come home and find him in the final stages of fatal sugar shock, with a piece of toast piled 8 inches high with butter, jelly, marshmallows, syrup, caramel topping, and ketchup lying on the floor beside him.

And I bet it'd stain my carpet, too.

1 comment:

Firefly said...

OMG, he's even worse than Patsfan! Patsfan's not so much for the sweets, but has always been one to pepper everything, and lately has a penchant for oregano. "It's already full of oregano, taste it before you add any" has now replaced "here's your dinner." Well, actually, "here's your dinner" was long ago replaced with "it's already got pepper in it, taste it before you add any," so, really, that is what has now been replaced.