Sick puppy
I called in sick to work yesterday, due to a rather awful toothache (I've decided that I'm allowed to complain about toothaches again, now that I'm actually dealing with my teeth, especially since this particular toothache [as well as the less awful one that I'm suffering from today] was actually caused by the dental work I had done on Monday [I made it a point to avoid complaining about toothaches that were my own damned fault for avoiding the dentist, since they were, you know, my own damned fault]) and so I spent the morning trying to sleep as much as humanly possible, which was quite nice.
Consequently, I got to spend the day with my darling, which is always a welcome treat, even if it means I have to be in pain. I made us a breakfast of eggs, sausages and bread, all nicely soft things, (actually I made toast for him, which turned out to be far, far too crispy for comfort, so I shared my untoasted bread, since I’m nice like that) which were super tasty, and made me feel all happily domestic. I continued on with my happy domesticity later in the evening (a dentist appointment, and a prescription for Vicodin later) when we went grocery shopping. On our way to the grocery store I offered to make him anything at all that he would like for dinner, which was a rather ambitious offer, since I really only know how to cook macaroni & cheese, but it all worked out in the end. He couldn’t decide on anything, mostly, I suspect, because he was terrified that I would make him eat whatever I cooked, even if it turned out horribly, which is a reasonable fear, since there’s a decent chance he would be more concerned with my feelings than his taste-buds, should my culinary endeavors go awry. I’ve certainly made my fair share of terrible meals, but I could tell they were awful, and wasn’t cruel enough to make anyone with 2 legs eat them, but he didn’t know that.
I’m easily discouraged, and horribly stubborn, but every so often I’m able to work around these faults, and last night was one of those times. So instead of giving in to his suggestion that we have macaroni and cheese for dinner and he take me up on my offer for something more exotic some other time, I made a suggestion of my own. Shocking, isn’t it?
In the end I delighted us both with Chicken Fettuccini Alfredo and Garlic Brie Bread (my own creation, though I’m sure someone smarter and more talented than I has done it before) served with Shiraz, which was absolutely fabulous, though I’m sure it wasn’t the “right” wine to accompany the meal.
I enjoy cooking, it makes me feel talented, and feminine, and a little bit magic to make something delicious out of the things in the fridge. Cooking for someone I love, who really appreciates it is even better. Especially when he does the dishes.
Consequently, I got to spend the day with my darling, which is always a welcome treat, even if it means I have to be in pain. I made us a breakfast of eggs, sausages and bread, all nicely soft things, (actually I made toast for him, which turned out to be far, far too crispy for comfort, so I shared my untoasted bread, since I’m nice like that) which were super tasty, and made me feel all happily domestic. I continued on with my happy domesticity later in the evening (a dentist appointment, and a prescription for Vicodin later) when we went grocery shopping. On our way to the grocery store I offered to make him anything at all that he would like for dinner, which was a rather ambitious offer, since I really only know how to cook macaroni & cheese, but it all worked out in the end. He couldn’t decide on anything, mostly, I suspect, because he was terrified that I would make him eat whatever I cooked, even if it turned out horribly, which is a reasonable fear, since there’s a decent chance he would be more concerned with my feelings than his taste-buds, should my culinary endeavors go awry. I’ve certainly made my fair share of terrible meals, but I could tell they were awful, and wasn’t cruel enough to make anyone with 2 legs eat them, but he didn’t know that.
I’m easily discouraged, and horribly stubborn, but every so often I’m able to work around these faults, and last night was one of those times. So instead of giving in to his suggestion that we have macaroni and cheese for dinner and he take me up on my offer for something more exotic some other time, I made a suggestion of my own. Shocking, isn’t it?
In the end I delighted us both with Chicken Fettuccini Alfredo and Garlic Brie Bread (my own creation, though I’m sure someone smarter and more talented than I has done it before) served with Shiraz, which was absolutely fabulous, though I’m sure it wasn’t the “right” wine to accompany the meal.
I enjoy cooking, it makes me feel talented, and feminine, and a little bit magic to make something delicious out of the things in the fridge. Cooking for someone I love, who really appreciates it is even better. Especially when he does the dishes.