I don't think I've had a mushroom in at least three years.
Nope, not one.
Every entree is ordered "without mushrooms" and steaks are served with onions but never the typical squishy counterpart, but not because I don't like mushrooms.
It's because he doesn't.
He doesn't like the thought of them, the look of them, or at worst, the taste of them - at all.
And as someone who has a particular aversion to certain kinds of fish, I can appreciate the idea that some foods just don't do it for us.
But after looking through old photos, I realized my life, when looked at through a particular lens, can be seen as a series of relationships dictating my actions.
Wanting to please, be supportive, remain appreciative, I've let certain aspects of my personality falter, remaining sweet on days when its only venom I seem to taste.
For whatever reason, I fear being "that wife." That wife who bickers and complains about household chores, that wife who rushes from wedding to baby planning, that wife who gives him a hard time about... well... essentially him being him.
And so I wonder why, since I'm so in tune with how HE FEELS, why I don't spend more time being HONEST with how I FEEL.
Because sometimes, dammit, I want mushrooms