I think my husband, my best friend, my darling Sir, missed his calling.

Now, if you asked him what he’s most suited to doing, his answer, variously, would be a world-class poker player, followed by a world-class bridge player, thence a world-class horse aficionado, and lastly, but by no means leastly, a world-class gentleman of leisure. This I can see. Give the man a bit of a Powerball win – oh let’s put it at a modest $107 million or so, and he’d be happier than a spotted pup under a pickup truck.

Now that you mention it, so would I. I could be an eminently fine lady of leisure for that kind of dough, but then again, couldn’t we all?

That’s not to say that $107 million would necessarily go that far. There’s a football player – go figure – out there who has managed to slash his way through his “pay” of $20 million in five years and has been forced to declare bankruptcy. How do you get through that amount of money in five years without being a certifiable idiot?

But I’m sure between the two of us, Sir and I would manage our mega millions quite splendidly, without having to face a judge once. We’re two of a kind, two peas in a pod, indeed, two spotted pups under the same pickup truck.

But I digress.

I realized it at dinner the other night. I’d served something I hadn’t served before. It was a chicken breast (on the list? Check!), wrapped in bacon (on the list? Check!), surrounding a small bundle of asparagus (on the list? Check – ish. Tolerable, not a favorite, but there you go). With this I served small red baked potatoes and his absolute favorite corn on the cob. I didn’t even bother to offer him any of my green beans in garlic, I knew they would not be chewed, but eschewed.

After one bite of the chicken, he became suspicious I could see. With the skill of a plastic surgeon, he cut the parcel open end to end to reveal – oh horror of horrors – two (count them, not one but two) strips of red pepper snuggled secretively beside the more boldly apparent asparagus.

He then proceeded to dissect each small potato to ensure he removed the innards – a potato appendectomy if you will – so that there was no danger of his getting any potato skin past his delicate tongue and thence into his even more fragile stomach.

You know, I’ve seen enough cooking shows to know that presentation is a very major part contributing to the enjoyment of a meal. Well if that’s the case, this is not a prerequisite on his part.

By the end of the surgery, it looked like the tail end of an amputation. Anything red was carefully segregated to the right side of his plate.

I was tempted to pat it down for stray instruments, or the odd lost swab.

Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at anniedearkc@hotmail.com.