I have a favorite snack that I like to grab to eat, especially when I’m not extremely hungry. Fortunately for me, I got a one and a half pound bag of them for Christmas. That snack is pistachios. I know that you can get them already shelled, but pulling them out of the shell is half the fun.
Often, I’ll walk into the kitchen and grab a handful of them and sit them on the computer desk while I’m working. They’re only three calories a piece, so I don’t feel like I’m doing too much damage when I enjoy them. I’m not the only one around here who likes them, however. Lately, I’ve noticed that my supply is dwindling. (Said as I make the “I’m watching you” gesture at Mr. Taleteller.)
The other night, I sat working on the computer, with my pistachios close at hand. Morgan seems to have some sort of radar in those lovely bat ears of hers and any time I have something to eat at the desk, she magically appears at my elbow with a look of deep and abiding affection. I am not fooled, I know that she’s really making googly eyes at my snack, in this case, my pistachios. I had no intention of sharing my pistachios with her.
Unfortunately, one of them was proving difficult to crack and I dropped it on the floor. Morgan, ever on alert, pounced on it before it had a chance to bounce on the carpet. She laid quietly on the floor at my feet, nursing that lone pistachio nut, for a long time. To my surprise, when she was done, she got up and the two halves of the shell were laying on the floor, but the green nut was completely gone. Then she reappeared at my elbow, looking very hopeful.
Me: No! You are not getting my pistachios!
Morgan: Oh yes I am!
Me: I mean it, Mo! I said no.
Morgan: Did you hear that?
Me: Hear what?
Morgan: That pistachio — it’s calling to me!
At this point, I wrapped my hand around my nuts and gave her the hairy eyeball. Morgan wagged at me and bumped me with her nose. I kept my eye on her.
Me: Morgan, I said no!
Me: You’re not getting my nuts!
Morgan: Don’t be a nutcase!
Blueberry: Oh, that’s a good one, Mo!
Me: I do not need your help, Blue.
My husband called them and they both went over to see if he had anything interesting to eat. Unfortunately, he did not. Morgan was soon back at my side. I wasn’t too concerned this time, though, because all that was left was shells. I’d eaten all the pistachios. I smirked to myself. Still, Morgan pushed up under my arm and then with one swipe of her nose, knocked half the shells off the desk and onto the floor. Then she happily began crunching them.
After she made nutshell confetti all over the carpet around my desk, she left, her furry tail swishing with triumph. I guess she thought she’d taught me some kind of lesson. Perhaps it would have been easier, and neater, if I’d just given her another one. Sometimes victory is a hollow nutshell.