My husband is begging me to be a better wife. And by better wife he means keeping the house stocked with food. This is his only criteria I think. I could sit ragged all day long in the house in pajamas pants (ok, I do) and it wouldn’t matter as long as there is food in the house.
In his defense he’s not saying it’s my job to stock the house with food because I am a wife. It’s my job because he doesn’t have time. He commutes, works, and trains. I work from home and have the time. But when I look at all of the things I need and want to do during the day – going to the grocery store is not how I like spending my time.
I hate to grocery shop!
For that matter, I don’t like to shop at all. Plus I’m at the point where I also just don’t like to eat food. Athletes eat a lot of food. Trust me, it’s not the dream come true you think it is to have to eat a higher volume of food. Because it’s not like that volume includes sweets or junk. No that would be easy. You could eat a giant slice of cake, wash it down with a beer and call your calories done. But no. Instead it is the relentless search for good for you food. Which is not nearly as fun to shop for as cookies and cake.
But as quickly as food comes into the house, it goes right out via…well….via me. I am at home all day so I eat most of the food. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I’m sitting with a bag of chips attached to my face all day. But I do eat breakfast. And lunch. And a late afternoon snack. And I eat peanut butter too. More than I should. All right I’m officially on peanut butter break until I can figure out how to eat it in quantities of less than half or full jar.
The other night Chris got really mad. When Chris gets mad he gets quiet and then he does something forcefully. He got mad that there was no food. Then he got quiet. His next move – he pulls out a pen and a pad of paper from the drawer with much force. Take that pen! And he starts writing a list – quietly. Opens the refrigerator, the pantry over and over again while forcefully scribbling things down in his handwriting that I can call a step above chicken scratch (which also makes me take the list not so seriously – this does not help in the category of points earned towards being a better wife).
I could only imagine what he was writing on the list; corn chips, lemonade, clean wife that puts on real clothes everyday. These are some of Chris’ favorite things. I believe the man could sustain himself for 30 days on corn chips and lemonade. I now feel the need to barf. But back to Chris – he finishes writing then deposits the list on the counter. And there is sat for a day. No one came by to pick it up. No magical food shopping fairy nor housekeeping staff.
I guess the list was intended for me. So on Wednesday I finally looked at the list:
I’m dumbfounded. I must be missing something. THIS is IT? THESE are the things he needs to survive? He kept opening the refrigerator door desperately seeking chicken, avocadoes and….ham steak? Of all the things you want to see in your house – why? Who craves bananas? That’s like saying you have a taste for oatmeal. BLECH! For goodness sake at least put something on there worth fighting for. Like ice cream or cookies or vanilla frosting or cake. Don’t fight me for a sweet potato and a pork chop. And biryani? Is there another wife that cooks around here because I have never made biryani in this house. And not to state the obvious but, I won’t even ask the difference between lettuce and salad – yet.
This is the difference between woman and man. A man generates a list of practicality. He has basic needs for survival that include bananas, bacon, ham steak and some leaves (lettuce or salad – your choice). A woman would generate a completely different list. For what is survival if you cannot enjoy yourself? And no one ever enjoyed themselves with parmesan cheese. So I pretend it was me scribbling a list with fury of the food I’d like to see in the house:
Chocolate Caramel Brownie flavored coffee – many bags
Very Vanilla Soy Milk – lots
Moose Tracks – at least two gallons so when I go through one I can replace it with super secret back-up gallon so nobody knows
Chunky peanut butter – several jars
Vanilla frosting – Pillsbury brand, the one with little sprinkles on top
Skim milk – so I can wash down spoonfuls of chunky peanut butter, nutella and frosting
Peanut butter cups – large tub from Trader Joe’s
Red wine – the good stuff, lots
I think that about covers it. And for nutrition, throw in a bottle of multivitamins.
On Wednesday I fail miserably again. I don’t go grocery shopping. I pull the “we are leaving in two days” card and just pick up a jar of sauce instead. He tries to tell me we will go out for dinner that night but I say oh no, I got your sauce. We are putting it on something. And we do. It wasn’t bacon or lettuce but it was flax pasta and that’s got to count for something good.
When I call out a request for the maid service to come into the kitchen and clean up the pots and pans that night (I keep calling, she never arrives), I think to myself that really I should try to be a better wife. Cook a meal. Do my hair. Keep my man well-fed. Better yet, use that 400 watt crock pot that I won at Steelhead. But, it’s no use. I’m just not that into it.
But then again, that crock pot was damn big. I bet I could get into it if I really had to.