I have guilt you see. It is not unfounded, I deserve it.
Yesterday the man texted me and told me he offered to bring dinner to a family at church who has just had a baby. I do believe this is code for he offered ME to make dinner.
I have no problem with this. I believe in making dinner. And I especially believe in taking it to a woman who has just borne life.
These women, in particular, need to eat. Youknowwhatimean?
My problem, which has ultimately landed me here in guilt prison is this: the man told me two days ago that this woman had had her baby. I then started thinking about what night might be good for me to take her dinner. I did this in my mind, not out loud, as I should have.
Yes, I should have. For the man went and made his own plans and then he texted them to me.
Whilst I was out driving around buying things for my party tonight.
Him: I told the SoandSo's I would bring them dinner tomorrow (tonight). Do you mind making that sausage cream soup? Can I buy you some ingredients.
This is what I love about the man. And I mean that sincerely. He asks me to cook something very time consuming and very much paininthebutt-ish but then he offers to buy the groceries. The fastest way to my heart is through the grocery store.
Did you know that?
Me: No way. Tomorrow does not work.
You see, I'm having a party, which I'm pretty sure I've mentioned. I plan on devoting all my time to the preparations of this party. I had no intention of feeding my own family never mind a family that contains a woman who has recently birthed her third son.
Yes, sometimes I'm selfish like that. I blame menstruation and a general malaise.
Him: I'll take care of it.
Me, feeling the need to clarify: My kitchen is not available to you. I can make them dinner on Saturday or Sunday. Otherwise you will have to buy them something tomorrow.
Him: Yes, I gathered that.
This is where it stopped. Because if there is anything almost 17 years of marriage has taught us, it is when to stop.
Last night I went to book club. When I got home, at midnight, the kitchen was clean, the dishwasher was running and the crock pot was on and something inside it was cooking.
Hmmmmm. This was the extent of my thought process when I went to bed.
This morning I woke bright and early to the smell of pig stewing in it's own juices. Which just grosses me out to the point that there are no words.
Well, there must be words but I'm not interested in finding them. The smell was not a good morning kind of smell. But, I knew that there was food cooking and eventually, at some point in the day, it would smell yummy. And in all my shame, I knew it was for a certain woman who has recently pushed a baby out of her body, so all I said was, "why are you getting up so early?" It was 6:45. Too early.
The man said, "Before I go to work, I need to pull the pork and add the sauce I made for it so it can cook some more."
The man made this family dinner. He did it in the night and in the wee hours of the morning so as to not aggravate me in my possessive kitchen neurosis.
He timed it beautifully. He waited just long enough for me to be fully enveloped in guilt before he asked, "Will you take it to them sometime today, when it's convenient for you?"
"Yes," the guilt oozed out of me and spewed forth all over the marriage bed.
Then, he kissed me farewell.
I am a terrible person. I think I'll throw a party to allay my remorse.
Yes...that is what I will do.