So I didn't think I would be this anal husband, but it turns out that I feel that I am more than I feel I am not.
Sherry and I pride ourselves on being well informed on situations, but remembering all the stupid rules about which fish you can eat and which sweeteners you can use is a little to much for me to remember. We think we have it all under control, until... we get to menu time.
We get the menus, sit there and scan for about 2 minutes, and then Sherry says... "what are you going to have?" ... that is the easy question, I can usually get that one right. But I know which conversation is next, and I get all tense like I use to get during my weekly Electromagnetism (Physics 2) quiz. "Do you think I can eat Calamari?"
Crap, crap, I didn't study this one... let's see Calamari, it's a shellfish... it's a ten-armed cephalopod, commonly known as "squid"... is related to the octopus... they vary in size from 1 inch to 80 feet in length... the meat is firm and chewy, with a somewhat sweet flavor... over-cooking can lead to a rubbery texture... it's Italian for "squid" (well, plural form of it)... But... I have no idea if it is heavy in Mercury, which is why she isn't suppose to eat some fish [I pat myself on the back for knowing that]... is it local or from the coast of Sicily... cause the stupid book says it matters. Damn
"I think so", I confidently respond while I make a mental note to reread that section of the book as soon as I get home, so I can tell her to puke it up if need be.
It's all very confusing.