I think most of you know by now that Fahim’s a little, uh, strange. Which is perfect for me because it means he’s a perfect match for me. 🙂 Uh huh. Yeah, I can see those heads nodding from here.
Fahim frequently eats jam and bread for breakfast. I don’t. Bread isn’t good for me. More specifically, wheat isn’t good for me. I save up for those occasions when it’s really worth eating it, and bread isn’t one of those things that I miss.
Fahim has this little ritual he does in the mornings. First thing after he wakes up – I mean, I think. I haven’t been getting out of bed as early as him lately, so for all I know, it might be ten or fifteen minutes later, but I don’t think so – he takes the jam out of the fridge. For breakfast. That he won’t be constructing until an hour later.
He hates spreading cold jam. It tears the bread, I guess. Same as the margarine. He takes it out of the fridge about ten or fifteen minutes before he’s ready to spread it.
I suppose this isn’t all that strange. There is logic behind it, after all.
But then there’s the bottom of the jar.
As in. When he reaches the bottom of the jar, he’ll leave the jar on the counter until he gets a heel piece of bread for brekkie. Then he’ll spread that with margarine – I think – and then he’ll wipe out the inside of the jar until there isn’t a single molecule of anything representing jam left.
Yeah. He’s my honey. And I’m stuck with him.
