Man, I’m so hot right now. And not like Megan Fox hot (she totally is, don’t lie). Like I’m-working-up-a-sweat-just-typing-and-I’m-on-my-last-box-of-tissues-hot.
I have to admit that there has been an upside to how incredibly awful I’ve felt these past few days and it came in the form of a bowl of soup.
I should preface this by saying that I never task Dave with making dinner. This is usually because doing so will mean I am barraged with very detail-oriented questions regarding times, spices, and temperatures out of sheer terror that he will mess something up. Which I think is adorable. But when it comes down to it, I’d rather just do it myself. Kind of because I get easily annoyed by questions and kind of because I’m more of a “go with it” kind of cook. I can’t really tell you what makes my burgers delicious; I don’t pay attention.
But on this particular weekend, just being awake was such a chore. My super awesome Dave – after working all day – went to the grocery store and bought the necessary plants, animals, and chemicals and came home to spend the next 2 hours concocting the best chicken noodle soup I will ever see in my life. It was so beautiful I just wanted to take a picture of it. But I’ve learned to stop doing that because two days later, without fail, I check my phone, call “Jackie two days ago” a moron, and delete 15 random pictures of food from my phone.
Sometimes I think food is just breathtaking. It’s part of the reason I was such a fat ass in high school. No joke – the year they changed our volleyball uniforms to include spandex shorts was a startling dose of reality for me and everyone in the bleachers.
But this chicken noodle soup was seriously amazing. I kind of felt bad about being shocked by how good it was. It’s not that I didn’t think Dave capable… it’s just that, well, I tend to harbor some rather traditional ideas of gender roles and Dave is most certainly a man’s man. I could strip him of everything but his underwear and drop him off in the woods only to come back three days later and discover him the king of some crazy man tribe, complete with forts, trolleys, and a fully-fledged hunter-gatherer society.
But then I got to thinking about him making mention the other day of his newfound desire to attain a man purse. …What if he’s transforming? What if he’s being taken over by some sort of nurturing side that is set up like a time bomb in his body to mature and fully reveal itself when he hits 25?
Hey – if it means I get more picture-worthy meals that I don’t have to cook myself, then I say bring on the man purses. ♣
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