By: Kenneth M. Kapp

Less than a minute into their argument, Vern switched gears. “You men are all alike. All you ever want is meat and potatoes. It’s no big deal if I throw in a turnip just to broaden the taste. I should’ve used a rutabaga; not that you’d know what one was even if it hit you in the nose. Just taste it.”

Stan countered like always, “Yeh, there you go again, ruining meat and potatoes. Damn dish is as American as apple pie. You want maybe to fly the flag upside down and put up a sign, saying how your husband is anti-turnip, like he’s some damn liberal wuss? Next thing you’d do is want me to eat some fancy lettuce. Jeez! You don’t need to be this healthy!”

“OK, Stan. You asked for it. I’ll give you healthy. Maybe a good diet will even clear up your pimply skin.”

“Nothing wrong with my skin. I’m entering my second adolescence. It was on the cover of one of your women magazines. Must be where you got all you diet ideas. Probably had a bunch of coupons for all that natural food.”

“Well, you’re wrong. The article was about having an optimistic attitude in life, getting out and doing things instead of becoming couch potatoes.”

Stan grunted. “And you get that from eating carrots and weird vegetables?”

“Yes, and exercise. So if you want dessert, we’re going to take a short walk around the block after I clean up. So don’t get relaxed and start opening your pants so that you can “breathe. Knowing you, you’ll forget and they’ll fall down just as we’re passing Carol and Bob’s.”

Stan laughed. “Now that could be funny, you think? Bob’s such a tight-ass, he’d probably call the cops. OK, so then what’s for dessert?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“It better be worth it.”

Fifteen minutes later they were ready to go. Stan smiled and stuck out his chest, wisely not trying to suck in his belly, ashamed to admit he had another helping of the mashed potato-turnup dish. “And don’t worry, the button’s buttoned and the zipper is zipped.”

Twenty minutes later they came in the side door. Anticipating dessert Stan volunteered to hang both coats. “OK, so what’s for dessert?”

“Spicy seared peaches and plums.”

“You got to be kidding me.”

“No. Give it a try. And because you were such a good boy I’ll even add an extra scoop of your favorite vanilla-vanilla ice cream. Now, go sit down in the kitchen.”

Vern brought her empty dish to the sink. Stan was still licking the sauce when she returned. She nodded at the clean dish. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it Stan?”

He read the twinkled in her eyes, made a face, and asked, “OK, what kind of surprises do you have for dinner tomorrow?”

“Braised baby bok choy with a roasted sesame oil and soy sauce. You’ll love it; trust me.”

“Yeh, but the dessert better be good!”

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Kenneth M. Kapp lives with his wife in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late at night in his man-cave. He enjoys chamber music and mysteries.