It's corn season in our parts. Corn season in our parts is something to be celebrated. Local, homebred, homegrown, homefed corn is literally something to die for. Or kill for. That Children of the Corn flick totally makes sense to me.
Friday evening, we had some corn (Vera gave it to us, but that really isn't an important part of this story, it's only to say "THANKS VERA!" and to tell you where the corn came from.) When Spouse arrived home from work, I handed him the sack o' corn and asked, "Will you shuck this?" He said, "Sure," and walked out the door.
Okay? "Whatever," was my only thought. Perhaps he was doing it outside to save some mess or whatnot. 'Cept he came right back into the house without the corn.
My only next thought was, "You know? I tend to micromanage everything around here. I'm going to let him shuck the corn any way or how he chooses. And I'm gonna shut up about it."
I finished the other dinner business, which included, but was not limited to, setting a giant pot of water to boil. When the water reached the optimal boiling point, I said to Spouse, "Where's the corn?"
"I chucked it."
Evidently I need to work on the way I enunciate "sh." I need to practice saying "sh." I shall start with my favorite word that starts with "sh." The Yahoos don't like it when I say that word, however, so maybe I'll chuck the "sh" and say "chit." (Or should I shuck the "ch" and say "shit?")