Wednesday, Jul. 31, 2002
Dear Diary:

Fresh from the field corn is more than a mere taste treat for me. It is a golden, butter-drenched epiphany, pure bliss on a cob.

Late last week the first fresh corn came in to the local produce wholesaler and even though it was nearly $6 a dozen and puny beyond belief, I couldn't help myself. I bought a half dozen, thinking it would be a lovely treat for the spousal unit and I.

I got it home, shucked it and dropped it in the boiling water. The aromatic steam filled the kitchen with the sugarlicious smell of fresh sweet corn.

"It won't hurt if I eat just one while I wait for him to get home," I told myself.

I was a fool to think I could stop at just one.

The spousal unit was late that night getting home from work. As he came up the front steps, a pile of corn husks greeted him. He expressed his delight that there would be fresh corn on the cob for supper.

Sheepishly I told him there wasn't any corn.

"But I saw the husks on the porch."

"Um, I ate it all."

Now in my defence I want to say that those were the six PUNIEST ears of corn you have ever seen in your life. No, really, they were practically microscopic and I sweartogawd the cobs weren't much bigger than a pencil.

And besides, the spousal unit was almost an hour late, I was starving and IT WAS THE FIRST CORN OF THE SEASON AND I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF AND YES I AM A GLUTTON.

There. It's out in the open. Everybody happy?

Well you'd think that having teased me mercilessly about it that night, that the spousal unit could let the subject drop, but oh, no, the corn jokes continue without mercy. Every night for the last few days I've been greeted with the words, "Any corn for supper?" followed by guffaws.

Guffaws.

Fine.

Normally Friday is my grocery day but I am so fed up with being the butt of cruel, insensitive corn-related humour that today I went out and did my shopping. Not only did I buy the usual fare, I also went to the wholesaler and bought a dozen HUGE ears of sweet corn so the incessant corn-related torment will stop.

You know, it's a good thing I bought a dozen because it appears that three have already disappeared under mysterious circumstances and it's only lunch time.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.