The other Sunday as we left Church, I stopped to express appreciation to one of the Sunday School teachers for a nice lesson. After a few minutes of pleasantries, she excused herself so she would not be too late for choir practice. "I just had to run out to my car to get this treat for the rest of the choir," she said, gesturing to the package of Fig Newtons in her hand. "I don't know how we would get through practice without them!"
As soon as she was on the other side of the door, Brigham turned to me and declared earnestly, "Fig Newtons are pig food."
"Really. My grandpa had pigs and I am pretty sure that is what we fed them."
This is not the first time that Brigham has described food he does not like as being fit for pigs. There is the story of his mother walking out of the house after Brigham characterized as "slop" the food she had prepared for the family meal. (His mom doesn't remember; Brig still feels very guilty.)
It is mildly surprising to me when he disparages any kind of food item, since he claims, and I can bear witness, that Brigham's main objective in eating is simply "to get full." (Once when I was twisting in indecision over whether to make the baked ravioli or some other thing for the missionaries, Brigham advised me that it didn't matter because they just wanted to get full.) So in this way he is sort of like a pig--with higher standards.
Later that night, under instruction from me to make me laugh, he divulged that he used to be jealous of the pigs. Apparently, they also were fed past due hostess cupcakes. "They couldn't have been that bad."
As a little kid, I had also been envious of my grandmother's horses and livestock, since they were allowed to eat certain cereals that were off-limits to me. I used to steal their food as we headed out to feed them their Fruit Loops and other stale cereals that had probably been stored in some shed in an open container.
Is it silly to say that this made me feel closer to my husband? As it goes, I also happen to hate Fig Newtons. That plus the childhood eagerness to eat food designated for barnyard animals . . . well, at least we have that going for us.