I hate walnuts. Did he know that? No. He also didn’t know that when I feel bloated in the face I wear my hair in a high bun.
The morning after his Thanksgiving party in November of 2008, whatshisface wanted to cook something for me. We had been seeing each other for (drum roll not really necessary) 3 months, and this was the norm. He always cooked for me, especially because he knew I always cleaned my plate and liked experimenting with different foods.
That morning, he pulled out some rotini and cheese, which looked pretty great.
Then, out of Nowheresville, he pulled a bag of walnuts off of the top shelf. He looked at me and gave me a curious look while holding and shaking the bag of walnuts to which I furiously shook my head, which any normal person would take as a “no, please don’t put those anywhere near me, and more than that, please GOD don’t put them in or anywhere near my food.”
I turned around to grab a glass of water only to turn back and see him putting walnuts in my pasta. I did refrain from gagging, only to realize there were also walnuts in the pumpkin pie he airplane fed to me on a wooden spoon (Seriously? Yes, seriously.). Dude, what is the deal, right? Can’t you tell I hate walnuts?
He looked at me, touching my face, and said, “we need to talk.”
I should have known. Effing walnuts.