Before I even start this blog, I want to point out a bit of advice that my Grandpa gave us when we got married, which was to "Never say negative things about your spouse in front of other people." I'm sure he said it much more eloquant than that, but you get my point.
Let me just say that I am not going to say negative things about my spouse. I love him more than anything in this world and it would tear me up inside to know I hurt him. BUT, our little kitchen fiasco last night was so notable I had to blog it, if for only the reason so that we can look back in years and laugh about it.
So Will, forgive me.
In our home, I usually make dinner most of the time. But every now and then, Will chimes in and offers to help out. In fact, he offers to help out quite a bit but most of the time I turn him down because I'm downright afraid of what he will cook.
For example, some of his staple favorites are:
Macaroni 'n Cheese with BBQ sauce, pineapple, poppyseed dressing, and chopped up hotdogs.
Scrambled Eggs with chicken, turkey, ketchup, and cajun seasoning.
Well, you get my point. I do have to say though that he does make absolutely heavenly french toast. He's got that one down. But from the few examples above, you see that he is no plain-jane type of guy. He's got to jazz everything up.
Well, yesterday was a long day for me. I had doctor appointments in the morning, and then taught piano lessons all afternoon. I didn't get much of a chance to eat very much, but was just not really in the mood to cook, or rummage through cupboards trying to think of something to cook.
Will comes home from work and the first thing he says after hello is, "Would you like me to start on something for dinner?" This translates to: I can see that no dinner has been started, I'm starving and so let's eat.
I'm actually relieved that he wants to cook because I really don't want to. So I ask him "Well, what are you going to make?"
His reply: "Whatever you want me to."
And because I am pregnant and hormonal and have a very short stick lately when it comes to my tolerance level, I get annoyed that if he is the one cooking dinner, why do I have to be the one to come up with what to eat? If I wanted to come up with dinner, I would have just made it myself.
So I tell him "You can make whatever you want."
So he says, "Okay well I'm going to make a salad."
"A salad? And anything else?" I respond.
He says, "No, but if you would like something else you are more than welcome to fix it if you want."
I reply, annoyed, "Okay I've barely eaten anything today, I'm almost 8 months pregnant, I'm starving and you want to make a SALAD????"
And so then the conversation is back to him asking me "Well what would YOU like me to make then?"
I just end up telling him to make whatever he wants and if I don't want any, I'll make myself something.
A few minutes pass and I can hear him in the kitchen chopping up lettuce. I started feeling bad about my attitude, so I went in there to join him and sort of spy on what his salad creation was turning out to be like...
I find the kitchen to be a whirlwind of wonderous creation as I see this huge bowl of lettuce topped sliced lunch turkey meat, canned salmon meat, and chicken strips. Not just any chicken strips -but the ones that have been in our freezer since October and are mostly the "bad" pieces that I won't eat. I'm already thinking that this salad is not something I'm interested in.
He is standing there slicing up spreadable cheese. Uh huh. And I look over to the microwave and ask, "So....what are you doing in the microwave?"
"Boiling eggs", he says. I look and there is a bowl of water with 3 eggs in it.
Not even a few seconds later, there is this huge EXPLOSION, the microwave door flies open and egg is flying everywhere. There is egg on Will, all over the counter tops, on the kitchen floor and the inside of the microwave is covered in eggs and smoking. I scream, Will jumps, and then looks at me and says "You're not going into labor are you??". We both figure out what happened and then bust up laughing. He says "Don't worry, I'll clean it up."
Well, not wanting to get in his way, I decide to go and lay down on the couch. Over the next 45 minutes, I hear him going back and forth between the kitchen and the food storage, opening cans, hearing packages crinkle. Well, I know exactly what he is doing.
"Is that craisins you're putting on the salad?", I call out.
"Yes." he answers.
"Well, you do realize you don't have to put everything on the salad, and that craisins don't exactly go with the type of salad you are making." I say.
Will responds in the exact tone of voice as Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada when they say she doesn't know anything about fashion. Will says to me, "Well, I think that is a matter of opinion. Would you like to come get some salad now before I continue adding ingredients?"
"No." I say.
And then as I continue listening to his little chef adventure in the kitchen, my hormones are starting to explode at the seams because a) I'm starving and b) I'm getting annoyed that he's basically using any and every ingredient he can find to put in this salad, oh and c) that I can't get up and make myself anything to eat because there are exploded eggs everywhere in the kitchen.
So I start to cry. But I don't want him to see me crying. He finally gets done making his salad and brings himself a bowl over and sits next to me on the couch.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" "What are you thinking about?" He asks me. I know I'm acting stupidly, and I know he was just trying to be nice and so I conclude that all the reasons why I'm upset and crying are unjustified and I don't want to make him feel bad so I just tell him that "I'm fine."
Finally, Will goes to take a shower and by this time it is now 8pm. I haven't eaten since 3pm. I go to look at his salad and this is what I find:
Grilled chicken strips (bad)
Shredded cheddar cheese
Sliced up "laughing cow" spreadable cheese
Paprika (among other spices)
Is that, salsa?
But I'm starving and I see eggs all over the kitchen and the microwave and conclude that its my only choice. So I start picking off the hardboiled eggs and eating them. Finally I give in and dish myself up a small bowl of his weird salad.
I eat it.
About 30 minutes later, my stomach is starting to cramp and I feel as though I am going to throw up. Will comes out of the bathroom and I tell him, "So....I had some of your salad. It was....interesting." He beams and says "Thanks!!"
Poor guy. He did spend until about 11pm last night cleaning up the exploded eggs and washing all of the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. And when he finally came to bed, I finally told him that his salad made me cry. LOL.
We both laughed, and eventually went to sleep.
I woke up this morning and the kitchen was immaculate. All of the dishes were put away, and then thinking the weird salad was gone...I get an email from Will at work saying "I'm so sad!! I left my salad at home!" I look in the fridge and there is still the gigantic bowl of weird salad sitting in the fridge. Guess what Will is having for dinner tonight?
I only wish I would have taken some pictures of it all. The eggs everywhere, Chef Will in the kitchen.
Ladies, I know some of you actually have gormet chefs for husbands (Kristi, Elizabeth), but all I have to say to the rest of us is, sometimes when your husband wants to cook for you, just pretend its like your little 5 year old offering to make you something and just be happy with the outcome no matter what. And then tell him "good job honey" and pat him on the head and he will be happy. And then you can blog about your true feelings.
And Will, thanks so much for making dinner last night. I love you. But I think I'll make it tonight..and the next night...and the next....