Mr Husband has been reading my blog. He said he wouldn’t – he said he thought what I wrote was silly and only wants updates on the posts where I slam some angry political stuff your way. Out of the blue he read the confessions of a dinner widow and boy-oh-boy did that set off a family drama in this house. The very same day, Superheltemor wrote on her blog about checking with family members, if they are OK with what you write, before you publish. That is really good advise – a little late and maybe I should have thought of it myself – but really good advise.Thanks.
I didn’t think it would be such a big deal (dumbass). It’s not like we haven’t talked about the sad state I’m in, inventing dinner by holding up crackerbread thinking ‘yum?’. But OH those Italian genes got their knickers in a knot allright. Because that was what it was: the Italian genes.
12 years into a relationship with 100% pure Italian genes, I should have displayed better insight into living with them (can I blame Monday at noon? I think that may be a valid option?). The Italians say ‘I love you’ through food. Big time. Mr Italian Chef Husband says it all though food (and I’ve promised to say that this is not the real reason why I’m fat. I’m not allowed to blame him for opening my mouth and putting too much food in there).
To publicly display his neglect of my dinner is the same as publicly shaming him for not loving me and not taking good care of me. Hence this disclaimer. He is out there, night after night, slaving away in a kitchen hot as hell, so that I can go to university. He is not neglecting me, I’m fine and I’m definitely not starving. There! Done! I’m sorry!
And let me then just give you some examples of the conversations we have had. It’s a real insight into a multicultural household:
Mr Husband: But I do bring you home pizza. Don’t you like the pizza I bring?
Me: I didn’t say you didn’t. It’s true and I love the pizzas you bring home, but it is a bit random
Mr Husband: But I did bring home that one with the Mozzarella di Buffalo
Mr Husband: But I cooked you all that lasagna and put in the freezer
Me: that was long before Christmas
Mr Husband: It can’t be, you are exagerating
Me: you cooked them before the Christmas party at the archery club, which was in the beginning of December
Mr Husband: Oh my God (and then an undefined noise related to being stabbed with guilt)
Saturday (late) night I came home to this:
A house floating in 300 kg of gnocchi. Mr Husband had spent his prescious Saturday off cooking gnocchi for his wife and I now have a freezer full off ready made meals. For dinner that night I got gnocchi with homemade pesto
Am I a lucky wife or what?