Since I've been pregnant, Hoby has been wonderful about cooking dinner. He gets home before me most nights, so he usually has something ready by the time I walk in the door. And to a pregnant woman, walking in and being handed a hot meal at the end of a long day is as close to heaven as it gets.
He wasn't always this eager to help out in the kitchen, however. One night (before I was pregnant and when I was still doing most of the cooking), I knew that I was going to be late getting home, so I called Hoby and asked him to cook the chicken I had left defrosting in the fridge. He told me that he wasn't sure how to prepare it, but I assured him that he had cooked chicken long before I ever came into the picture, so I was sure that he would think of something.
Well, about an hour later, I walk in the door completely starving and the first thing I notice is that I don't smell anything cooking. So I say to Hoby "What happened to the chicken?", and he says, "Well, how about we go to McDonalds instead?" (Side note: I'm ashamed to admit it, but I LOVE McDonald's Filet-O-Fish sandwiches and Hoby hates it when I eat McDonalds, so for him to say this was a BIG deal.) So of course, I jump at the chance and off we go.
Once we get there, I run up to the counter to order my precious Filet-O-Fish sandwich before he can change his mind, and when I'm finished, I turn to him and say "So what are you having?" and he says, "Nothing, I made myself a chicken sandwich at the house."
Uh, WHAT???? YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!
Yes, folks, it's true. He managed to make himself a chicken sandwich but somehow couldn't manage to make me dinner, too. I spent about 5 minutes trying to explain why this was just plain WRONG, and then, well, at least I got a Filet-O-Fish sandwich out of it!
I like the way he is now MUCH better. (I love ya, honey!)
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