Here, at the end of our meal, is my salad:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1IBUBnrubWFbMSJoUlMgODEmIGr5r-xbbNnpUbpleA3owh_h-ZkUbxsqydwq5EyYE0esf1F7LShfCktSF5NgNTLBpvxs24-Kse7Sbghv4yqS2udLvx910V7XQtaEXgg9m0yqY/s200/my+salad.jpg)
I picked off most of the good stuff! And even tackled the first 42 or so pieces of lettuce on the top! I was proud of my effort...until I looked across the table and saw her plate:
You just can't compete with that. It's a gift you're born with...or not. And yes, Super G was gracious enough to leave that little sprout of frisee on her plate to show that she's not invincible. But since "frisee" is a word that should refer to a dance step and not a food, I think she stands tall as the lettuce queen.
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