Who nominated me as the person in charge of keeping everyone alive?

When I was young and single, able sit on hard surfaces and not in charge of keeping other people alive, I did not worry about what I would 'make' for dinner. Usually dinner consisted of rice or ramen noodles or some other form of refined sugar.

I was happy.

I was probably malnourished, but that didn't stop me from stocking my fridge with beer and elbow macaroni.

Husband's culinary skills are nonexistent.

Unless you consider pouring cereal and milk into a bowl a form of culinary art.

If people in our house plan to stay alive it is clearly up to me to make sure that happens.

I figure husband has never been taught how to cook and the only way he'll learn is if we do it together...and I teach him.

Lovingly.

Without telling him that my grand plan is for HIM to learn how to cook so I'm not stuck in the kitchen keeping people alive while he reads the news on the internet.

Genius. Right?

(There's more where that came from folks.)

The other night we prepare fajitas. I explain the proper way to cut green pepper. To this he replies:

"Why am I the one cutting the peppers?"

Really?

Where in our vows did I commit to always being the one to cut peppers?

I know husband would be fine going back to the eating habits of singledom. Him eating corn flakes and me eating flavored rice. And I may or may not agree that this isn't a bad idea.

Only now we have this third person relying on us for sustenance and nutrients and I'm sure he also needs to know there are other food groups besides grains so he can have a decent lunch to trade at school. Soggy corn flakes are not going to score you any Twinkies.

Even though husband will at least taste whatever I put in front of him, I know my dream of us meandering in the kitchen making an event out of cooking some sort of pre-planned exotic meal that includes items from all four food groups while we drink wine and commiserate about our day....is a looooong way off.

However, if you come over and find green peppers on your plate, there is a 50/50 chance husband diced those bad boys up for you.