Here’s a rare glimpse into the inner-workings of our home. Since Thomas is a grad student, his days don’t end at five the way mine do, so we’ve struck up a deal: he takes care of coffee and breakfast in the morning and I’m in charge of making dinner in the evenings.
On a typical day, Thomas gets home from a rehearsal around seven. He spots me (his loving wife) in our tiny kitchen. He throws down his backpack and heads toward the dining room. The entire journey only takes him four steps.
Here I am, slaving away at the hot stove, cooking up a delicious supper for my old man! Look at that posture, folks. One hand dangling limply at my side while the other appears to be gingerly poking at something out-of-frame. If that doesn’t say ‘Master Chef,’ then I don’t know what does.
Thomas moves a little closer and my entire charade falls apart. Turns out, I’m actually just cracking open a can of tomato soup and heating it in a pot for three minutes! For the third time this week. By now, you’d think he would stop getting his hopes up. Bless his heart.