I’ve been watching, full of trepidation, as this strange pile of ingredients on our dining room table has slowly grown over the past couple weeks:
When I ask James about it, he answers, “It’s for an RV experiment…” said with that evil-genius glint he gets in his eyes.
Most RVing spouses, with their spare time, I imagine do NORMAL things to their RVs for fun. Like wash them. I’m not sure what gene James lacks that makes him think eight pounds of yeast and three pounds of laxatives makes for RV fun. I imagine he has some new hair-brained experiment in mind dealing with everyone’s favorite RV forum topic…black tank maintenance. But that ridiculous amount of laxatives and psyllium fiber has me afraid. Very, very afraid.
I’m kicking myself on those wedding vows again. They keep coming back to haunt me. One of my vows was that I promised to always go along with his crazy schemes and half-baked adventures. James loves to hold them over my head on occasions like this. So whatever this experiment is, he’s safe from divorce. But if my food starts tasting funny he’s in big trouble.