Cauliflower

I really don't like cauliflower, y'all. Today I admitted to myself that the only reason I eat it is because my good friend who died in 2000 had an x-boyfriend with whom she was still madly in love and I remember her recalling a sweet moment when he said, "Sweetie, please eat cauliflower. It helps prevent cancer." This was the only reason she ate the yucky stuff, even after they broke up. So, essentially I'm eating cauliflower based on an emotional attachment to a second-hand emotional attachment to a comment made in the context of failed love. I don't feel this way about cauliflower puree. However, strangely, I associate cauliflower puree with Casa de Luz, which was the last place I saw my friend before she died.

Aside: A boy just walked by the window that faces the alley behind my house. He was dressed like a boy scout...kind of...maybe more like a 20-something used-to-be boy scout who is nostalgic for days when gathering with a group of boys on a Tuesday afternoon to eat root beer floats and learn how to tie knots was a meaningful and laudable activity. Ostensibly to commemorate "the good old days," he was wearing khaki pants, a forest green polo shirt that tries to look nice, but is misshapen by sweat and too many times through the washing machine, hiking boots, and a fishing hat. He also had two medium-sized rocks tied around his neck and a few nap sacks slung over his shoulder, one with a dark green pillow-y looking thing sticking out of it that matched his shirt. There are no camping sites nearby. Nor are there ponds in which to fish. What is he doing in my neighborhood? I won't be freaked out unless I start seeing more of his kind walk by my window outfitted in the same way. The rocks around the neck are a dead give away.

Back to the cauliflower...I guess the bottom line is that, however contorted the reasoning, I'm okay with eating something that's good for me, even though I don't like it. Maybe that's good. Maybe not. It's probably not a bad skill to know how to trick myself into thinking that something detestable is somewhat pleasurable...or at least bearable. The trick is to always be sure I know I'm tricking myself. You know what I mean?