I have been trying to cook a cabbage for weeks. I envisioned fried cabbage and this fancy edamame and rice ramen I had in the cupboard from a past Hungryroot shipment.
The cabbage was bigger than my head and had a bit of mold on it, so the teenager said I couldn’t eat it. I cut a huge chunk out of the side and sautéed it anyway.
“Mom,” the teenager said, “that doesn’t solve the problem.”
I wanted cabbage. I’m the one allergic to penicillin and molds. So if I’m willing to eat it, I’ll live.
But I was not willing to feed it to Nan. I called her up to tell her the story, and I knew I’d either missed her birthday or it was coming up in the next few days and I had to ask.
I’m terrible with birthdays.
It turns out it’s today. Happy 69th, Nan! You’re still my coolest blind friend (and my only blind friend).
The teenager and I hopped in her Nissan Rogue and took Nan out to DQ for blizzards— we offered to take her for fancy ice cream but she wanted Dairy Queen.
It turned out the teenager had Avenue Q in the compact disc player and Nan had never heard it, so we listened a while and now Nan plans to look up the rest on Spotify.
Wait. What? The teenager is using discs and the old lady is using Alexa to stream music on Spotify?
In other news, I’m 85% done with my service dog application. I’m about 85% certain I want to do it. Several people have expressed support whom I did not expect.