dinner

My wife makes some amazing things happen in the kitchen. She is incredible when it comes to being creative and healthy all the while feeding 3 kids (and me). There has been 1 thing she has made, since we've known each other, that I have "not liked". Yes, you heard me. 1 thing. Honestly. Only 1. 

It was while we were first dating. It was some sort of stew. It came out nasty. She wouldn't even eat it. I tried it. Ate most of the bowl and just couldn't finish. Gross. 11 years of marriage and only 1 thing. I think that's pretty amazing. It just goes to show she really knows what she's doing in the kitchen. Her creativity is matched only by her zeal to try new things. I love it. Obviously.

Now, let's examine the seedy side of all this awesome food creativity, shall we? It starts out innocently enough...

I get the news earlier in the day... We're having XYZ for dinner. I'm excited. I think, "We haven't had that in a while. I can't wait." Or, "Oooohhh, that sounds real good." All the rest of the day I'm thinking about how great dinner will be. And then the magical moment arrives. I get home and see before me a feast. A feast the likes of which not many men are witness to (and this is almost daily I will remind you). I gaze at the dinner table and stare in awe at the wondrous meal set before me. This, I think to myself, is what it's like to be loved. Yes. This has to be it. A woman who creates such wonderful meals for me and the children must really love us. Right? Yes.

And then, it takes a turn for the worse.

I look into the kitchen. The place where all the magic happens. And what do I see? What do I see? I see a mess. Holy crap do I see a mess. Some days, I swear, I can see EVERY utensil in some state of dirty-ness strewn about the nuclear waste land that was once my kitchen. Pots, pans, bowls, cheese graters, knives, citrus juice extractors, mini blenders, not sure what that is, plates, a bouncy ball? What!?

Now, instead of really enjoying my sweet dinner, I'm dreading the hour long clean up that will commence when I'm done filling my face. I'm not saying I don't appreciate what she's done for us. Not at all. Quite the contrary. What I am saying is, "Why do you have to use so much stuff?" Oh, wait. I forgot to tell you. We have this deal, this symbiotic type relationship where because I'm a horrible cook, she cooks and I (yep you guessed it) clean. So, this nuclear waste land I see before me. That's all mine baby. All mine.

How do you tell the woman you love that there has never been a meal she's prepared (see above for description of yummy goodness) that was worth the tremendous amount of clean up involved? 

You don't.