I’ve talked previously about my food issues — how I don’t like any of it to touch. Well, my friend Becky (hi, Becky!) sent me an excerpt from an article she read about Groucho Marx:
Because of the greasy food served all slopped together in the boarding houses, in his later years Groucho always insisted he be served his food in separate dishes. Each main course, vegetable, salad, potato, whatever, was always served alone, in its own dish. “I’m rich enough to eat my food in separate dishes,” he would explain. Groucho hated mixed vegetables, calling them “trick vegetables.”
And that will be my line from now until the day I die. “I’m rich enough to eat my food in separate dishes.” I might not be able to afford a new house or an iPad or new eyeglass frames (at the same time that I’m buying prescription sunglasses), but at least I have enough money to eat my food in separate dishes.