Dinner. It happens almost every day. Hungry people want to eat a meal. It falls within the realm of my responsibilities to provide it–for me, for my husband, for my kids when they’re around (note to the internet: yes, all of these people are capable of preparing their own meals, and they do on a regular basis, but as a currently unemployed person with amble time on her hands, it only seems fair that I at least cook for them). I am a decent cook. I actually even enjoy cooking a lot of the time.
So what’s the problem, I hear you asking.
The problem is, this:
Let’s say I plan on making a lovely lasagna, garlic bread, and a salad for dinner. I buy the ingredients, make the meal. And then my son tells me he’s going out to see his friends and doesn’t want dinner before he goes. And then my daughter texts me that she and her husband (they live in my basement currently) are going out to eat. And my husband informs me that he ate a late lunch and isn’t hungry.
For whom, exactly, did I just prepare this meal?
Okay, yes, I can still eat it, and everyone else can eat it later if they want it. But if no one was going to eat dinner, I would have microwaved chicken nuggets and avoided the work of putting a whole meal together!
This happens regularly.
I don’t appreciate it.