Safe Eating

A lot of people think I CAN'T cook. It's not that I can't. It's that I DON'T. There's a big difference. 

When Brock and I first got married, I tried my hand at some homecooked recipes I grew up on (my "soul food"). My husband was nice about it, but didn't seem to really care for my cooking style. I would make a meal, set the table and sit there, end up waiting for hours alone will when he unexpectedly got caught at work. At first, I would wait for him to eat, but soon realized it wasn't worth letting my hard-cooked meal get cold. How depressing is that? So I would clean up, watch a show and go to bed with leftovers in the fridge never to be touched that night until I ate them the next day. It was like I was offering him poison which I still don't understand to this day.

So I gave up once his practice took off and I hired a personal chef. He would eat all of HER meals. Sometimes I would sneak in a few of those early recipes I made him personally -- just to see what would happen -- and he would gobble them up because our CHEF made them! [ insert frustrations boiling over again ] Because SHE made them or SHE endorsed them, somehow they were "safe" to eat.

Now he emails his weekly meal plan to our daytime chef for her grocery list. I never know what he's eating or not eating. He is looking really good, but that just makes me feel even worse about the one extra pound I have to lose right now. Sometimes I'm embarrassed to go with him to functions where his colleagues might see me and feel sorry for him like he ended up with a "frump girl." At least I don't wear yoga pants IN PUBLIC (like some of their wives do).