Conversations With A Friend
“What do you mean you do not like corn or gravy? Woman are you daffy? Who doesn’t like corn or gravy? Especially corn! It’s just not American!” I say almost speechless but not totally for this conversation is not going to end without my defending my beloved corn.
“I don’t like corn nor do I like gravy. They are just not healthy for you. It’s just not good for you. Ick, seeing them both on the same plate just grosses me out.” She responds with a-know-it-all attitude.
“That’s just not normal….” I say. “You ain’t normal. No corn? No gravy? Why that’s just downright Un-American.”
“It’s unhealthy is what it is. And you shouldn’t be eating it.” She utters one more time as if I didn’t hear her the first time and as if saying it the second time will convince me she is right.
“No way, no how will I ever give it up. Those sweet golden yellow tiny nuggets melt in my mouth, after I chew them of course, but they are a delectable delight I refuse to give up simply because you say so. And as for gravy…… the very soul of the tenderized meat I spent hours basting, cooking and browing well don’t get me started on that…that’s a whole other story. Put them both together on a plain dish and it’ll liven up a boring buffet. Don’t you tell me how bad corn is good for you. EEEET EEES GOOOT!” I say with the worse phony Russian accent. What does a Russian accent have to do with corn, I do not know but it sounds good at the time and so I say it.
“How can you say it is not good for you. It is un-American. I will tell the world of your anti-American behavior.” I say with my head raised so high I can hear the crack of my neck begging me to stop this verbal food fight.
“Apple pie is American.. Hot dogs are American.. But CORN is just starch.” She says in a very protesty kind of way. All that was missing was a waving flag in one hand while holding a cardboard sign with NO CORN written on it and a circle with a slash across from it in the other.
“I do not for the life of me understand how I can be friends with a woman who does not like corn or gravy. I just can’t imagine that. I will have to rethink this relationship. I … I ….. wait…. Do you eat popcorn?” I ask with eyes slanted.
“Why yes of course I do.” She says with hesitation.
“Aha! YOU HYPOCRITE! YOU EAT THE CORN after it has been tortured and blown up. Those sweet little kernels, once young and innocent, tortured and forced into deformity. YOU DO EAT CORN!” I say with satisfaction.
“Yes,” she says, “but the process of popping corn changes its chemical compound thus rendering it a simple starch rather than a complex starch in its natural state.” There she goes again, with that know-it-all-attitude. I resist the temptation to say, “Na na na na poopoo,” thus rendering my argument useless.
I think to myself…. I ponder….I know she likes corn, she has to. What normal human being doesn’t like corn or gravy for that matter. Maybe they don’t have to like both, but definitely one or the other, preferably corn. She’s just being difficult. She’s just one of those people that will eat cardboard just because the Surgeon General says it’s good for you.
“Well, you eat corn, regardless of how uncomplicated it becomes once it’s been tortured. YOU EAT THE CORN! YOU ARE A CORN EATER! There is hope for you yet.” I say with complete satisfaction that I have made my point; corn is good.
“Popcorn is healthy,” she says, “Corn is not. There is no nutritional value to corn”
“But it is still corn woman! I shall thwack thee with a wet noodle whence I see thee again just to knock some sense into you. But of course, you’ll tell me that noodles are no good for you in which case, I shall shove it down your throat smothered in a butter and nice corn chowder sauce that I will make with gravy!” Twack thee? Whence? What is happening to me? Surely this corn issue is not making me speaketh in this strange manner. But it is corn, my love, my sweet golden love and I will not stand for any one to trash my corn.
“I love noodles,” she says with a smirk. I like to eat them cold and smothered in Italian dressing.
Go figure, I think to myself. I can’t even torture her with a wet noodle.
“This is all your fault…” I hear her say. “I ate a Dangnabit ear of corn and it was sooo good with the butter and salt that I had a second half. Now if I get stomach cramps, you have to stay up all night with me. You are such a bad influence…” She whines.
I suddenly feel the smile of a Cheshire cat upon my face. Now the tables are turned. I cannot resist. “While you were disobeying the Surgeon General of the UUUnited States of
America by eating that sinful corn….. ,” I pause for effect, “I was cooking a healthy meal. Shame on you.”
“It is all your fault,” she cries. “That is my story and I’m sticking to it.” “There there, my dear. The truth shall set you free. Why not admit it?” I ask.
“Admit that you are a CLOSET CORN EATER!” I say pointing my finger in the air.
“It was messy and stuck between my teeth but it was oh so sweet and deeeeliicious.” She mumbles with lust.
“I rest my case.” I say as I begin to walk away.
“It is all your fault! You did this to me. That’s so wrong!” she whines.
“What you think of me my dear closet corn eater is none of my business,” I say as I walk away. Corn rules!