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I’m not one to quote scriptures (since my relationship with the Bible is tenuous at best) or platitudes but there are a few that occasionally come in handy. For instance, the old saw about ‘Judge not lest ye be judged’ and ‘People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones” both have recently gained stature here in our house.

Some of you readers may recall that, the longer Gill and I lived under the same roof (mine), the more lax we became about our dietary choices. Whereas I maintained my all-salmon, all-salad diet for quite some time and Gill stuck to her all rice, all Asian diet, there came a time when all bets were off. We succumbed to our Stockholme Syndrome lifestyle and both began eating, on a regular basis, popcorn and ice cream for dinner. It was just easier and we both had digestive issues…as in, we were sick of each other’s company and our stomachs rebelled against our co-habitation.

Crazy D and L’il Sis used to judge us sternly. They cut Gill more slack than they did me since she has Crohn’s and ,if she irritates The Beast within, she is in trouble. I, on the other hand, as ‘The Resident Adult’ and the one old enough to know better, got the brunt of their criticism.

“Ice cream for dinner, Mom? Do you know all the crap that is in this stuff?” And then they’d proceed to read off all the unpronounceable ingredients, shaking their heads as they did so, their derision and criticism oozing from every pore.

“But I’ve been eating this for my entire life. If I may point out the glaringly obvious, I am, generally speaking, healthier than you lot combined! Maybe it’s all the chemicals and mystery substances I’ve put in my body all this time that have helped preserve me.Not to mention all the ‘dangerous’ hormones.  You people with your hippie dippy nonsense are delicate. ..delicate, I say! You’ve got no stamina.”

Well, my friends, the tides have turned. There was evidence (circumstantial I admit, but still incriminating) that Crazy D and L’il Sis have purloined my ice cream supply. The first clue was the mangled cardboard container jammed hastily into the drawer freezer. It had obviously been thrown back in haste (some culprit trying to avoid detection) and had caught on the frame of the drawer when pushed in.  It appeared to have been the victim of a bad hit-and-run accident. When I extricated the container from the crash scene, and peered inside to see if the contents had been damaged, lo and behold, there was very little ice cream left in the container. I had been pilfered!

“‘Fess up!” I raged. “Who has been eating my dinner? And more importantly, which turncoat, which hypocrite has been caught with his or her guilty little fingers in the cookie jar?”

Both guilty-looking offspring entered the kitchen, looking sheepishly at the floor. I had to laugh. “Hey, I don’t mind that you eat the ice cream,” I admonished them. “Just do it with gusto, out in the open, admit to your failings. Don’t be all judgey and ‘all up in my grill’, as they say. Just own up and enjoy it!”

Things have been a lot more relaxed around here since then. Gill would be proud. And I haven’t confided in her yet, but the other two have adapted another favourite snack of ours: popcorn.  Granted, they don’t make the dirty version Gill and I prefer (with butter and way too much salt). They stick to nutritional yeast mixed with spices.

Well, the Pyramids weren’t built in a day.