Last Sunday after church we ventured to the dreaded Walmart. I try to avoid this place as much as possible. I know it has super low prices and everything in one spot, but it gets packed and annoying. I could spend an entire blog on my dislike of Walmart but to the real entry at hand.
"You know what sounds really good?"
As I feel the 'oh, no he's gonna ask me to make something' pit in my stomach , it comes out.
"Your homemade fried chicken."
"Sure babe--it does...ummm...look over here we could put a pot roast in the crock pot"
"Did you hear me? I really want the chicken with mashed potatoes. Real ones..real mashed potatoes."
Crap! I hate cooking. I cooked from the moment I was old enough for the family. I cooked lunch and started dinner. I do have to thank my mother for teaching me the great recipes and making me do it so that I do know how. But by the time I moved out of my parent's house I have hated cooking.
But guilt was taking over. He had that look. The 'Come on hun' look. I swear his lower lip was sticking out. Did he take lessons from Megan in the cereal aisle and I didn't see it?
But this is where I gained control.
"One thing...I only have one night to make it this week because of work. So if you want it you are gonna have to wait until Thursday night."
Then like a child who just got the candy that they threw a fit for. He says, "Okay, great. What do you need?"
So each night we fixed the meal we had planned. Then came Wednesday evening. I had vegetable soup on the stove and suggested he make the kids grilled cheese sandwiches. He looked and noticed we were short on bread.
He says, "I'm going to the store." Oh no! So before he said anything else, I piped up, "Okay, bread that's it. We don't need anything else. Understand? We got everything we needed the other day."
As he is walking out the door...
"Okay dear! I'll talk to you when you get home from work."
I didn't think I would ever get done working to see what damage he had done. I rushed home and as I pull in the garage, I smelled it. The scent of meat cooking. Excuse me, dinner was done, what is he cooking? I walk in to find him making a homemade pizza.
"Uh, honey, did you eat the vegetable soup?"
"Yeah...the kids loved it."
"Okay, then why are you making pizza?"
"Because you can make it cheap and it sounded really good"
Then I got it. If I went along with this I would get out of making dinner the next night. The one night off and I wouldn't have to fix dinner. Yes! I could already feel the pajama pants, blanket-covered, Diet Coke relaxed feeling taken over. In all my slyness, I say, "That's great! We can have that for dinner tomorrow night"
I swear the world stopped. Time stood still. He turned around looked at me and said:
"Nice try dear. No we are having homemade fried chicken with mashed potatoes. And gravy. Homemade gravy."
I tried my best wife death stare.
"What? You never mentioned anything about homemade gravy. I am not making homemade gravy."
Here it comes...
"For trying to get out of cooking you are now making homemade gravy."