Sour Grapes and a Round Plastic Bowl

Each evening while I cook dinner, I find time to clean out Alyssa’s lunch box, washing her sandwich and fruit containers so they can be filled the next morning with yummy goodness.

On Monday, I saw that she hadn’t eaten all the grapes I’d packed, so I put the entire container in the refrigerator to send with her the next day.

Tuesday evening, some of those grapes were still there. Maybe six of them. That’s two days of sitting around in the locker until lunch time and then going back into her locker to make their way to Gram’s house and home again.

I kind of figured by that point, the grapes had lived their lifespan and it was time for them to make their way into the old ice cream container we use for old food that will be taken out to the compost hole.

Tom…had other ideas.

When he saw those grapes in there with the coffee grounds and the ends of an onion, he, well, he kind of lost his mind for a few minutes.

Okay, to be fair, we’ve had this conversation several times. Tom hates waste. He detests it. He can’t stand to see what he considers perfectly good food thrown away.

Alas, he and I have different definitions of ‘perfectly good food.”

So he dug those grapes out and washed them off. He put them in a round plastic Tupperware container and tossed them in the fridge, giving the refrigerator door a resounding slam just for emphasis.

He glared at me for a while, just to make sure I knew exactly how unhappy he was with my actions.

I apologized once. But only once. After that, I kind of decided he needed to get over it. I explained, once, that I kind of thought after two days of being left out, those grapes were no longer worth saving. But then I assured him in the future, I’d ASK him if he wanted Alyssa’s uneaten fruit before making the unilateral decision to toss them in the compost.

Later in the evening, after he’d cheerfully cut a watermelon plucked from the vine in our very own backyard, Tom was looking for a bowl.

He was very frustrated that he couldn’t find this bowl. It was a very specific bowl he wanted. He looked in the corner cabinet, above the coffee pot, and in the dishwasher. He demanded to know where the round plastic bowl was.

I struggled from beneath an almost-asleep Olivia, walked calmly to the refrigerator, opened it, pulled out bowl holding six old grapes and asked with nary a glimmer of condescension, “Is this the bowl you mean?”

He had the grace to look chagrined by the entire scene. He apologized and said that we couldn’t all be perfect. I didn’t take that comment personally since I’d said something pretty close to those exact words a few days before.

In the end, it was all good. He found a different round plastic bowl for the watermelon and apologized for being sort of an ass over a few old grapes and a round plastic bowl.

And because I am perfect (or not) I forgave him.