Salad days

As we're trying to combine going 'green' with some sort of semblance of the "Good Life!", we're growing our own vegetable patch (or vegetables, rather. Or slug-perforated salad leaves, rather. And to disguise a rather nasty parcel of ground where we pulled down a shed).

After weeks of waiting, I finally decided on a harvest, perfect with the fish for dinner, and duly proceeded outside with enthusiasm - delicately wielding a pair of kitchen scissors.

"The rocket's lovely - nice and peppery!", remarks Husband, pleased - and I quickly flick a minute green caterpillar off his plate with my napkin as he looks up contemplating the taste of our home-grown. (Thank Christ he missed that one, I must've missed it for sure when dousing the colander under the kitchen tap!)

"But what's this purple and green leaf, it's rather tough?...." "Oh God, you haven't. No, you haven't. I can't believe it. You have, you goose!"

...."What?" (I wonder if he's eaten another caterpillar. Or worse, a slug.)

"You've only bloody cut the leaves off the beetroot plants! How are they meant to grow beetroots now? These ones!" he digs, annoyed, at his plate. "I spent all that time planting them! You really are fucking ridiculous, sometimes!"

"Oh." I say. "I thought they were some fancy Italian lettuce leaf. You know, like rucola or something."

"Don't you think before you act?!" interrogates Hubby. He really is bugged. I can't think what to say in return except "Harvest your own Greens, then!" - but bite my tongue: it sounds so absurd, I'm worried I'll burst out laughing and snort all over his salad plate! ...which would make things worse.

So, I ignore, and we eat the rest of the meal in silence. Some sodding 'The Good Life'!