Partially through dinner this evening I turn around in my chair and notice that my five-year-old is at the kitchen island putting strawberry jelly on her bread. Her garlic bread.
My words can't come out fast enough: "Oh, no, no, no, no, no... You can't do that!"
She looks up at me, her hand already poised to bring the bread to her mouth, and simply says, "Why?"
Why? Why? Why?! I run through a mental Rolodex of reasons: Because garlic bread and strawberry jelly don't go together. Because it's disgusting. Because the match is just plain wrong, just like when you dipped your grapes into barbeque sauce last summer and when you let your ketchup bleed into your applesauce.
But I don't say any of this. For one brief moment, I don't say anything at all. I just look at that gelatinous glob of berry-red jelly on top of her garlic bread, shudder, and then yield.
I can't believe I'm saying it. Reese can't believe I'm saying it. "It's going to be good, you know," she adds before she takes a bite.
I turn back to my own dinner. I can't watch. We both finish our bread in peace. Some battles are not worth fighting, and this is one of them.