My husband and I have adopted our own unofficial don't ask, don't tell policy, because sometimes, you really just don't want to know. Now, don't worry, it's nowhere near as controversial as the military's policy; it has to do with our children. Let's backtrack to last Sunday and you'll see what I mean...
I like to sleep in on the weekends, and by sleeping in, I mean staying in bed until at least 8:00 a.m. I know, I know...for those of you who don't have children, you are probably thinking to yourself, "8:00 a.m.??? That's the time I normally wake up! What do you mean you slept in?" Meanwhile, those of you who have young babies are hating me for being able to stay in bed sooooo late. It's a matter of perspective.
Well, on this particular Sunday, I was awake, but stayed in bed, just because I could. My daughter was generously preparing breakfast for me, and so I was forced to stay in bed until she was ready. It was horrible—OK, no, it was really great. I could have stayed in there forever, but eventually, the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and piercing shrieks emanating from the kitchen drew me out of my room.
What a beautiful sight! Fresh coffee was waiting for me on a table spread with yummy breakfast delights personally prepared by my daughter-why, there were even candles on the table! I dove right into the Greek yogurt sprinkled with dark chocolate and walnuts and munched away blissfully. Everything was going great until I realized that the plate it was served in came from the decorative display cupboard in the dining room...you know, the one you only dust when company comes over...the one with the cobwebs? Gasp!
My enthusiasm for devouring my breakfast faded instantly. It was replaced with nervousness and apprehension.
My mind wandered...
Did she remember to...
Of course she would never serve food on a plate without...
OK, just don't think about eating dust and cobwebs—Oh no! Now that's all I can think about!
Without raising suspicion, I tried to casually glance over at my husband to see if he had noticed anything unusual about his breakfast, but the alarm in my eyes immediately tipped him off.
"Do you think she..." he began to inquire nervously.
"Don't ask," I muttered under my breath.
"But what if..." he continued.
"Do you really want to know?" I asked, cutting him off.
We paused and stared at each other, then down at our plates, and finally, back at my daughter, who was beaming with pride at the beautiful spread she had worked so hard to prepare for us, eagerly awaiting for us to take our next bites.
"Mmm! This is so yummy!" I declared.
My husband quickly followed suit:
"Yes, did I ever tell you that you are my favorite daughter?" he asked, knowing full well this always gets a smile out of her because she is our only daughter.
And with that, we dropped the conversation about whether or not she washed the dishes before serving us, and continued eating our questionable breakfast. Some things are just better left unsaid.