As my cohort in the Tricycle of Awesome can attest, my wife is a brilliant cook. She also loves to cook. One might think this has no downside…and that one person would be so goddamn wrong it hurts. It hurts from hunger pains.
When Shannon isn’t around, I have to fend for myself. If we have no leftovers, or she’s been too busy to cook, I am stuck cooking for myself. Once upon a time, I could–and did–cook for myself. I haven’t had to do that for going on three years. Whatever skill I had in the kitchen has been replaced by new skill at washing dishes.*
So today, while Shannon works and I work around the house (domestic work, I’m not actually fixing stuff), I’m stuck with making veggie chili mac. I’m not cooking, I’m just spicing up leftovers.
*My new skill? It doesn’t look like I pissed myself when I wash dishes.
That’s like my boyfriend and I. Except that he’s one who does all the culinary stuff, and I’m the one who is banned from any and all kitchens by his decree.
YOU CAN’T TAKE MY MICROWAVE FROM ME.