This weekend I still in France, having just finished riding my bike through the Dordogne Valley. I will be on a train back up to Paris in just a couple of hours. As I normally do while on the road, I revisit a Sundays are for Sebastian. This one comes from three years ago when Seba was eleven.
Sebastian is my eleven-year-old and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people.
My wife was giving me her semi-regular grief about the amount of salt I apply to my cooking, particularly vegetables.
My wife: “If you salt the broccoli this much again, I won’t eat it.”
Me: “I know you think it is too much, but the boys really seem to like it–and I do, too, for what it’s worth.”
Nathan: “There is no such thing as too much salt.”
Me: “See what I mean?”
My wife: “Yeah, but it’s not good for them and I think they are only saying it because they want to be on your side.”
Me: “I am not so sure of that.”
Sebastian: “Could you pass the salt?”