There are men who cook. The husband is not one of them. Before we were married, he survived on a nutrient-packed meal plan that included cereal once, maybe twice a day and the standard Potbelly's sandwich for dinner. The kitchen in his former residence housed brand new, stainless steel appliances only found through many layers of dust. Meanwhile, I have to chop onions on the windowsill in our current apartment. But I digress.
After what seemed like a typical tough day lately, I dragged myself home. When I opened the door, there he stood. Lettuce neatly chopped and washed, fixings waiting in their tiny, colorful bowls, perfectly seasoned meat simmering on the stove. TV off. Music on. Candles lit.
The taco salad. That's right, ladies. You like tacos? You like salad? Look no more. You will never remember the taco without the salad, nor the salad. Without. The taco. It's a tough one, but with a little practice, you'll nail it.
It's commonly said that marriage can become boring. Every day a repeat of the one before. A typical, while comfortable, routine where two people settle in and stay the same based on the acceptance of each other. That each has their role. That there are no more surprises.
Whoever said that has a husband that never makes taco salad.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment