Steve loves to tell everyone that I don't cook. His go to one liner is "She doesn't cook for me." He neglects to tell the back story,and so for that reason, I'm going to do it here, just to clear things up.
Years ago, when we hadn't been married very long, I would rush home from work to cook dinner. I'd have it on the table when he walked in the door from work. He was a detective at the time and got home around 5:30 on most days.
Now when I say I had dinner ready I don't mean ready as in it's on the stove,make you a plate and sit down. Not even close. I mean I had the table set. Linen table cloth on the table,folded linen napkins, meat on a platter, vegetables in bowls, Ice in glasses, and the tea pitcher there for refills.
I did my best to mimic my Granny's table on a Sunday afternoon after church. I wanted to be the best wife that I could be and I felt like making dinner and having it ready for him was part of that.
Well, as it turns out, I was an overachiever. Steve came in the door one day and said the words that he would regret for years. He looked at the dinner table and he said "I am so sick and damn tired of dinner hitting me in the face when I walk in the door." I don't think my feelings have ever been hurt that badly in my life. I just looked at him, and then a bit of anger crept in to accompany my hurt feelings. I said only one thing..."That won't ever be a problem again Dick Tracy.”
I'm not sure if he thought I was kidding and would just chalk it up to him having a bad day or
not, but if he thought that I was going to just let that little comment go, he was sadly mistaken. I mean he had a problem, and I am a problem solver.
The next evening when he came walking in the door he was staring at a table that was as empty as a water bucket in a drought. I mean I had even moved the flowers from the center of the table for effect. You could have heard a pin drop. He was so shocked and confused he couldn’t have found his rear end with both hands in his back pockets.
I don't remember how long it took me to cook for him again, but when I finally did it was
greatly appreciated. I still cook every now and then ,but it was so rare at first that his Mom even noticed. She stopped by one day and had brought me two oven mitts that matched the Waverly Rose pattern I had in my kitchen at the time. She asked me if that was my pattern and I said it was and asked her if she saw them again would she pick me up a couple more. I said I would like to have them for back ups in case I burn or scorch one. She said "R, you have to cook something to burn something.".
Quite a bit of time had passed since Steve's "Great" remark, and I almost felt bad that she'd noticed I wasn't cooking very much. Notice I said almost. My feelings had been hurt that day so badly that I just couldn't embrace the guilt.
We laugh about it now, but I still rarely cook. I mean seriously. I said he wouldn't have to worry about dealing with dinner being in his face again and I meant it. What kind of wife would I be if I put him through that again? Bless his heart..
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