This shot is pure luck. This is the natural expression his little face made in the midst of the word, "wasabi." He was not disgusted. He was not alarmed at the flavor. He simply said, "Mommy, hold these," and handed me the can, looked left and right and then, "Where's my water, I want more!"
Then, he proceeded to chow down. I was thwarted. So, he'll eat wasabi peas but he picks off minuscule bits of chopped parsley off of pasta. And he'll eat curry or any other number of "weird" dishes we make but he picked off the brown spots on the bottom of his fresh baked bread today. Kids are weird. And mom, dad, I can hear you from here echoing: those black spots on hot dogs are really ketchup baked in--stop picking them off, Rachel! Stop! See this...
This is Karma Kat Homer. He is my punishment for trying to take pleasure in the potential mouth pain of my child. Ten minutes after Wasabi snack, we went to the store to pick up black-be-spotted bread for dinner. Upon return, I discovered that my cat, who has no such pickiness in food or drink habits, felt that my cranberry juice, left upon the counter, was just calling his name. If you've ever seen a cat try to drink out of a glass, it's cute. If you've ever seen a cat try to drink out of a mostly empty glass, it's also usually a recipe for disaster. They typically put their paw all the way to the bottom and drag drops up to their mouth, knocking the glass over. Yeah, half a glass of cranberry juice spilled all over my kitchen floor, into my mixer, my coffee maker, behind the butcher block, into the electrical outlet. Oh, and he broke the glass. Thanks Homer. You suck. Bryon kind of hates you because you consistently cost us lots of money every time you choose to eat something small and get it lodged in your intestinal track. Me, I love you. But stop testing me.
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