A common conversation in our house around dinner times goes about like this:
Melanie: So, it’s about time for dinner.
Me: Yes, it is. Any idea what you might like?
(I name five or six different things all of which get muted responses. I take that as a No.)
Me: So what do you want then?
Melanie: I don’t know…
And so it goes until finally after much searching of the mental culinary databases and perusal of fridge and freezer we arrive at an acceptable selection.
Just now, Melanie was trying to interest Isabella in dinner, and finally exclaimed: “I offer five or six different things and she rejects them all. It’s so frustrating when she gets like this!”
She didn’t understand why I started laughing.
On the other hand, I suspect I won’t be laughing as much in five or six years when I’m negotiating the fickle appetites of the both of them.