It’s a good thing I have no feelings.
And as a rule, soup doesn’t cut it.
It’s a shame, because at this time of year, soup is one of my favorite things to make, especially if I can use the slow cooker.
Tonight we had Italian Wedding Soup, which is one of the few soups Catherine will eat, although she airs her gripes about it.
“You know I don’t like soup,” she said for the umpteenth time, her spoon poised to grab a little meatball.
Alas I was wrong.
“You mean the orange one that’s sort of spicy?” she asked. “No. I don’t like it. I lied and told you I did so you wouldn’t feel bad.
“I do that a lot.”