Not that I’ve been obsessing or anything, but I read something here recently about Will & Kate that gave me a bit of pause.
It would seem, that in their quest for a measure of “normalcy” (whatever that may be for them) that the future Princess Catherine stays home and happily cooks dinner for her man most nights.
Oh, honey. You’ll get over that nonsense in time.
I remember when the tide turned for me. We had just moved into our second apartment, four upstairs rooms in an old Victorian house, when we made the happy discovery that there was a tavern only two blocks from our place. My husband was working late evenings, and I refused to put dinner on the table at 8pm. I mean, really. No sense in that. So we would walk down to the tavern, and more often than not, stagger home.
Mostly, my husband’s schedule is the reason I don’t cook much. A lot of nights he’s not home until well past Spawn’s bedtime, or not home at all. And Spawn, well, is the Pickiest Kid On Earth. I can get by with mac & cheese, tater tots, chicken noodle soup, or grilled cheese for the kid. Me, I’ll whip up a little spaghetti carbonara or share the tater tots with Spawn. Or just not eat at all.
I suppose this would bother me if I enjoyed cooking, but as it stands I don’t particularly like to cook. I find it to be a tedious chore. I mean, cooking for three isn’t a whole lot different from cooking for two, or one, in that there are quantities of food to be adjusted so that you don’t cook for an army that isn’t there. I, for one, am not a huge fan of leftovers. Then there is the prep and the cleanup, both of which would be a lot easier if I had a dishwasher that works.
And really, after a while the whole romantic dinner thing sort of loses its’ luster. You get wrapped up in the sturm und drang of daily living and honey, the honeymoon is pretty much over by that point. And then cooking gets reduced to an action that just gets the job done, sustains life, and that’s it. Nobody appreciates it. In fact, for all you know, the family thinks that food appears on the table by magic.
Does Will help clear the table when the meal’s over? I mean, you’d wonder, seeing as how he’s been raised with a life of privilege, and that includes someone cleaning up after dinner. I’d be willing to bet he’s not much one for picking up his own socks, much less carrying his plate to the sink.
My advice, for what it’s worth, to Kate is this: don’t do anything the first year of your marriage that you are not prepared to do for the rest of your life. Call for takeout.
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