This week, I’m obsessed with flax seeds. I made Henry buy me a nice plump bag the other night, even though he was yelling things like, "You don’t even know if you’ll like it! You won’t eat it! Youdon’t even know what it’s supposed to do!"
I know that Britney Spears sprinkles it on her yogurt, and I know that it helps prevent prostate cancer, and I know that it’s chockful of that omega shit, and that’s enough for me.
Turns out I’m now addicted to flax seeds. I throw five leaves of lettuce in a bowl and douse it with flax seeds, stir and enjoy. I love how nutty they taste, nutty like peanuts. Nutty like me-nuts.
Today, I was supervising Henry while he worked like a busy little bee in the kitchen, diligently preparing my dinner. He was sauteeing some sort of rice mixture in a skillet and when I leaned in real close, close enough to burn my face off, I didn’t see any flax seeds. You better believe I pointed this out to Henry.
"You don’t have to put flax seeds on EVERYTHING," he sighed. But he still retrieved the jar that used to hold dumb shit like pretzels but now encases my beloved seeds of flax, and sprinkled not nearly enough of it atop the rice.
I was halfway to work when I realized that I left my dinner at home. And it was vegetarian stuffed peppers! WITH FLAX SEEDS! I only had 43 servings of flax seeds today. How will I get through the night?