Trust

Roommate is in charge of many things in my house. She is. I don't even bother thinking about it anymore. One of those things is vitamins.

There are two vitamin organizing thingies in the kitchen; one is for me, one is for Roommate. Roommate has been known to bring out my mound of supplements to me if I haven't taken them by evening time, often in a teensy little cup. Just like in the picture. She hands me the cup and I, without a word exchanged between us, pop them into my mouth and wash them down with whatever she's brought me to drink.

Yeah.

It reminds me a bit of the time Debbie, my wee beastie's water therapist, stepped in front of me after said therapy and said to me, "Open." I opened my mouth and she tossed in what turned out to be a ginger-mint pastille. Quite good, actually.

Debbie stopped and studied me for a moment and said, "Wow, you're trusting."

Maybe I am. Or maybe I've spent too much time with dogs and will pretty much each anything. But the fact remains that I have no idea what Roommate is putting in my vitamin organizer. I have no idea what she puts in my tea. I could be taking belladonna, hemlock and arsenic.

During a recent conversation with one of the walk-in clinic doctors, we were chuckling over our willingness to scarf down pretty much all food products, particularly when offered freely. After all, anyone could bring in anything in cake form and leave it on the counter, and I would pretty much eat it.

I have no idea what was in my little cup of pills this morning. I suppose I should care.

I don't.