when we met, he was man-sandal wearing and organic deoderant buying. then came the reusable grocery bags, the herb garden in the pantry, the breakfast conversations that began with: "well, when we own chickens ..."
i've, of course, glommed on like a tiny, unshowered grasshopper who no longer buys bottled water and is making a slow transition to bike-rider.
this styrofoam thing was definitely upping the ante. i was sure he had washed the container and was saving it to transport a yet-to-be-determined lunch to work. i saw the styrofoam aging, cracking, the cover ripping off ... until one day, 20 years from now, i have to pry it from his wicked free range, grass-fed, vice grip so i can take it to the historical society and explain this unnatural contianer to visiting third-graders as they gawk at the 'who broke the earth' display.
"what are you saving this for?" he finally asked me yesterday, the styrofoam flapping open.
"me? i thought you were saving it," i said. "i thought you had lost your ever-loving hipping mind."
"huh," he said. "i thought you had lost YOUR ever-loving hippie mind."
turns out neither of us had lost our ever-loving hippie mind, but neither of us would be surprised if the other did.