Home Sweet Home

If you notice that I tend to use the word 'neurotic' frequently, understand that it is with good justification. My parents make me look normal - and that, my friends (and non-existent readers), is saying something.

My father is a very endearing combination of germophobic, generous, selfless, impressed with his own intellect, kind, and conversationally-inept. It ends up balancing out quite nicely, since for all his insulting/asocial behavior he's enough of a mench to keep his friends.

Today we had Nancy (one of my best friends from high school) and her family over for a late lunch. It was more or less fabulous and very much along the lines of what gatherings at my father's house could be expected to be. Neither he, nor my step-mom are into the whole 'hosting' thing, so when they invite people over the only preparation that happens is of food. Thankfully Nancy's family is pretty adaptable.

"Tacos" were the main dish for the evening. My dad chose not to break with his historic three item repertoire: tacos, tofu stir-fry, and spaghetti with "meat" sauce. All three are made with the same combination of tofu crumbles, canned tomatoes, and onions all sauteed together. The difference is in the vehicle for the tofu crumbles: wheat taco shells fried in canola oil, nothing, and spaghetti. My dad is subtle like that.

The problem with a phrase like "variety is the spice of life" is that in order to get its point across, one has to accept the premise that spice is indeed appealing. I think that might be my dad's problem. Or maybe he just interprets "variety" as "tofu crumbles" - I understand the two are often conflated.