I have to give props to Will. Lately, he’s been stepping up his game around the house. He’s been chipping in more with general daily chores – without me having to
nag ask, which is the best possible way. He’s been making an effort to be more present. He’s been interacting more with the kids, which they love. It’s been wonderful.
But (and y’all knew there would be a but), sometimes he does shit that just makes my head spin.
After returning from the beach, he smartly took a couple of extra days off to recover. On one of those days, I asked if he would be willing to take care of dinner since I’d be at the office all day, then picking Felix up, blah blah blah. He said sure, once I helped him figure out what to make. Tacos. Easy and everyone eats them. Plus we’re about to start another round of the Whole 30 eating plan, so we need to enjoy our favorites before going on the ultra culinary straight and narrow.
He doesn’t cook as much as I do, so he’s not as…. organized? as I am. In other words, he always makes a huge F’ing mess in my kitchen. That’s ok. I’m always grateful to get a night off from cooking, and I’m pretty quick with a mess. And on taco night, since he cooked, I was more than happy to clean up the kitchen.
Tacos. They don’t require fancy knife skills. You shred some lettuce. You can do that with your fingers. Oh, and the kids love black olives, so he had to slice some of those. Olives. Soft. You can cut those with a butter knife.
He found the biggest. Damn. Knife. In. The. Kitchen. To cut lettuce (and olives). He’s done this before. I don’t get it.
Can anyone explain this to me? It’s the equivalent of picking a daisy with a chainsaw. It must be a man thing…