The dirty asparagus deed is done. The omelet, stuffed with Swiss cheese and imported asparagus trucked in from who knows where, has been made. At least the stuff was on sale for $1.99 a bunch.
The sun is shining so I had plenty of natural light for the food photo shoot. (It is so hard to get vegetables to lick their lips and gaze sexily at the camera so I need every advantage possible.) The least appealing and therefore most honest picture is shown above. The one for the magazine, with a background of perky looking houseplants in brightly colored pots, make the omelet look much too nice. (If you want to see that photo, you’ll have to wait for the April issue of Facets. When it comes out, I’ll add a link to it.)
For now, the omelet is covered with plastic wrap, waiting in the refrigerator for Hiram. He volunteered to eat it. All I have to do now is unload the remainder of the bunch of asparagus on my mom. Then she’ll call Hiram and ask him to come to over for supper. They’ll have creamed asparagus with ham on toast, and they’ll talk about what a picky eater I am.
I don’t even care. So far as I’m concerned, the whole asparagus dilemma is resolved. My photo of fake Iowa asparagus is good enough to perpetrate the necessary hoax. The recipe column makes asparagus sound delicious, even though I lied through my teeth to make that happen. And the payment for these grievous sins is an evening off while someone else fixes supper for my husband.
Sometimes, crime does pay.
