After a satisfying italian meal on the deck last night, my husband turned to me and said:
“Man, I’m craving a Greek salad, and not just any Greek salad, but an I.O.U. Greek salad.”
My brows stitched together. “What’s an I.O.U. Greek salad?” I asked.
A half smile crept across his face. “What, you don’t know?”
I shook my head, feeling dumb for asking.
He sat up, placed his plate on the table and took a sip of wine. “Well, First you take over 100 billion American Tax-payer dollars and put it in a I.M.F. blender and blend until you can’t tell its American Tax-payer dollars anymore. Then, you mix it with a couple billion European Tax-payer dollars and you sprinkle it over a mound of Greek I.O.U.’s with feta, tomatoes, and cucumber, then garnish with a toasted pita.” He sat back, rubbing his tummy and licking his lips. “Sounds good, doesn’t it? Sure to be a global blowout.”
My eyes grew wide. “It does! But… it sounds a bit scandalous.”
He chuckled. “Well of course. That’s what makes it so tart and delicious, but I should warn you, though it looks healthy, it’s crammed with fat.”
I frowned. “Well, okay then. I’ll make it, I suppose.” I rubbed my tummy, not wanting to gain the weight of it.
He chuckled again, this time in a darker tone. “It’s not like you have any choice.”