Tuesday, December 21, 2004

My Husband, The Cook

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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