Call Me Crazy

My husband thinks I need an antidepressant because I don't like picnics. This being the Independence Day holiday weekend, naturally the subject has come up, since for some reason Americans like to celebrate the birth of our nation by eating outdoors and tossing around Frisbees.

Personally I think picnics are highly overrated, as are antidepressants and, for that matter, husbands. There are always bugs, which is a drag when food is concerned unless you are a native of Thailand or Mozambique where they are considered a delicacy. Otherwise, all the ants and mosquitoes and bees and flies hovering overhead are a negative. Eventually one will swoop in and blatantly occupy your food. Trust me, bugs on your food is a bad situation wherein you must abandon the whole business and slowly back away, hungry, defeated and possibly already itchy.

Besides the bugs, which will ruin even the finest Merlot or Beaujolias by floating in your glass, weather is a constant concern: If it's hot it's likely too hot, if it's sunny you get sunburned, and if it's windy your napkins blow away. Rain is always possible, and that certainly dampens spirits. Worst case scenario: A tree could fall on you (see photo).

I say if you want to enjoy a meal, eat it in a place specifically designed for that purpose, like the couch in front of the 60" flat-screen plasma TV.  If you absolutely must be uncomfortable outdoors in order to feel truly alive, like the people in those commercials for bladder control products, go camping.

Sometimes I Get Really Mad

Yesterday I purchased a can of Planter's Mixed Nuts, the label of which promised less than 50% peanuts and plenty of  almonds, cashews, Brazil nuts, hazelnuts and pecans.  When my husband opened the can later, he shouted from the next room, "It's a lie, way more than half is peanuts!"

I ignored him, or at least tried to, but his grumbling made me well aware of his foraging for another snack. Because he is on some esoteric no-peanuts regimen, he rejected the nuts and opted for some blueberries. (Mitch is now one of those hyper-health-conscious eaters recently classified as "mentally ill," but that's another blog.)

Today I ventured into the same can of nuts and found it ridiculously full of peanuts and without one Brazil nut in there! I know this for a fact because my husband hates Brazil nuts and would not eat one if you paid him (unless you paid him a lot, but otherwise no way), and I love Brazil nuts--in fact, I would go so far as to say they are my favorite nut. Also, there were about three cashews in there, two hazelnuts and maybe twelve almonds, and the rest was all peanuts! (Any pecans surely were eaten by Mitch on sight.)

Being a spoiled American who has never been hungry for a second except maybe once on Yom Kippur many years ago, I was outraged and called the number printed on the label that invited customer's comments. I got a live person almost right away, which was good news, but the bad news was she was totally pissed off at me from the word go. Her tone was quite condescending, as if she could not believe that someone was pathetic enough to make this very phone call, and she gave me some spiel about how "the contents are machine-controlled" and it was "highly unlikely" that I was correct. Perhaps I had not assessed the situation accurately?

"Hey, I know a g-d Brazil nut when I see one!" I said, perhaps too loudly.  She said there was no need for profanity. In the end she took my address and said they would mail me a rebate coupon. Then she asked for my email address so that "Mr. Peanut can see how you're doing in a few weeks."

Now that's nutty.