Confessions of a Closet Take out Queen
Yesterday was day four on my new job, and I’m hanging in there. The pace hasn’t slowed and I’m using prayer, faith, and my skills to keep afloat. By the time I get off work, I’m exhausted. But somehow I muster the strength to cook a home cooked meal after my two hour commute home. Luckily my husband is okay eating leftovers, so I don’t have to cook every day. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t cook at all. Sshh. Don’t tell my husband.
Well, actually a few months ago, I confessed to him that I didn’t like to cook. You would have thought I had told him I used to be a man. His face dropped and his mouth fell open. He was devastated. “But when we were dating you told me you like to cook,” he lamented. When we were dating, I ironed his boxers. Duh, I was trying to get a husband, like Cass, the heroine, in my new novel “Married in the Nick of Nine.” There’s a lot women and men say and do to impress the love of their life. I had to remind my husband of all the heroic feats he had accomplished to impress me, like going to church with me every Sunday and grocery shopping with me every two weeks. Once I said “I do,” he said “I don’t.” He didn’t actually say those words, but action speaks louder than words. I can’t remember the last time he accompanied me to church and you noticed I said I have to buy groceries, as in by myself.
After my husband got over his initial shock, I was able to explain to him that I don’t hate cooking; it just doesn’t give me joy. He had this strange idea that all these years I had been literally beating the eggs and whipping the cream. He envisioned that I was this evil, angry cook, spewing venom and cursing while preparing his veggie tacos. He held his stomach thinking about all the negative vibes he had ingested over the years. I had to allay his fears and let him know that once I commit to cooking, I’m fine. No, I’m not Mary Poppins in the kitchen singing and dancing over the stove, but I’m not the wicked witch of Covina either.
I reminded him that he takes the trash out every week and then I asked him if he derived joy from this activity. He said he didn’t, but that he did it because it’s the chore he opted to do, and he knows it has to be done. Just like cooking is something that has to be done, and I chose to be the family cook. I also reminded him that on the days I don’t feel like cooking I always suggest we eat out. What he didn’t know, prior to my confession, was that if it were up to me, we would always eat out, and that the moment we come into some big money, the first thing I want to do is hire a live-in chef!