She knows what she likes.

Roxie and I went down to Stockton to catch a show last night. We met friends of ours for dinner first. We were joined by a friend of theirs who came out because she particularly likes the Thai restaurant we went to. Seems she really likes this Thai restaurant because she can get a bowl of rice, like she always does. I sortof heard the joking about her rice, but I didn't realize it was literal until she ordered a bowl of rice and nothing else.

She was excited and happy for her plain bowl of rice. She knew it was strange, but she was entirely sure she didn't want anything else. She declined tastes of our dishes, or spoonfuls of sauce to put on her rice. She had tried new things before, she said, but they just don't work out. I liked her certainty, and I liked her even better when she started singing to herself under her breath: Rice, rice. Rice is nice, doesn't need spice, I like it twice.

Her rice song reminded me of one of my favorite poems:

Cheese is stretchy
Cheese is nice
Cheese is the last
Temptation of mice.