The Sexual language of strawberries

They promised to have a roasted pig. The missionaries said they'd roast a whole pig for our church BBQ this weekend. They did not, thankfully. One of the best things about not being in a traditional ward is the food selection at church functions. Only two people brought dishes from the mayonnaise food group: one potato salad and one crab pasta salad. No jello. No casserole. No bag of grocery store stale white bread rolls. I had two bowls of home-made pico de gallo salsa made with avocado. It was so good, I ate it with a spoon.

HT arrived after I did. While I watched one of the toddlers, given instructions not to let him wander into the street nor back to the garden, HT asked me to come back and check out our plants. I said no because I had to watch the kid. He wasn't having it, so he told a girl nearby to watch the boy for a minute. Oh, so that's how it's going to be? Ok, I followed him behind the roses. He picked our first strawberry and ate half of it, then he offered me the last bite. I said 'no thank you'. He said, "Come on, it's the fruit of your labor." I looked down at the red and white pulpy berry in his hands. I could see his teeth marks in the white meat. No. "No, I'll have the next one. It's ok."

After an hour or so I went home. I told Barbara about HT's attentions. How he put his arm around my shoulders but I thought it was just friendly. She said, "A man and woman? I don't think that's friendly." Well, "I didn't like that he did it in front of EVERYBODY there." Then Barbara said, "Then that was not friendly! He was claiming his territory." But, "There were no other single men there, he had no reason to claim me." "It doesn't matter. You know how people are at church. They all saw it and now they're going to talk and it'll get around until everyone thinks you're together." Ugh. "No, I don't think that's what he was doing."

Then I told her about the strawberry. "He fed you a strawberry?!" "No! He tried to." "You are in such denial. Feeding you a strawberry is flirting." "Well, ok, maybe that's true for normal people but this is HT. You know how weird he is." "I know it, but it doesn't matter. HE FED YOU A STRAWBERRY!"

He also sat next to me when he didn't have to, and he tasted the salsa from my bowl with my spoon. Then when he said goodbye he kept looking at me, lingering. His eyes smiled at me. That I couldn't deny. That look in his eyes was new. Did I miss something? Why is he looking at me like that?

"What are you going to about this? You should talk to him." Barbara wanted me to make a decision. "Why do I have to do anything? I'm leaving soon and by the time I come back he'll be into someone else." "Because he fed you a strawberry. Do you want to do it directly or indirectly?" Then she started telling me the various ways I could reject HT's advances. She witnessed the whole summer debacle with him in 2003. She also knows a lot about these things and helped me reject someone else. "I'm not doing anything."

I'm not sure I want to resolve this. No drama, not now. Sunday I slept through church again. Maybe I can slip away from all this.

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