Poetry Friday Word for Tomorrow…I dish family
Last night my husband and I were watching a surgery show, and got on the subject of my parents. My mom really needs an operation to help her walk better, owing to an ever-worsening childhood condition. My dad, however, is very dependent on her for every household chore…especially cooking. If my mom were laid up for any length of time, my dad would face a serious meal crisis, and due to his very demanding personality, would no doubt guilt her into leaving her sick bed to cook him some dinner, woman. (He’s done it before, after she had heart surgery…the phone lines shook when I called to bitch him out about THAT one).
My dad can’t cook. His idea of a self-made meal consists of opening a can of Campbell’s Soup and eating it cold. He might stoop so low as to make himself a sandwich. But then he requires days of praise for it.
My mom tells me that in her day, in the 50s and 60s, the women took care of the men, and that’s just how it was. Girls in high school learned how to cook and clean and sew, and the men weren’t expected to do any of it. What were the men expected to do? Depend on the women, and walk around with huge important ego-erections, apparently.
Men need to learn how to cook. Not for any egalitarian reason, but because it’s life-sustaining. You can only open so many cans of soup before you go insane.
My husband cooks. It’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with him.
Most of the guys I work with cook. We have spectacular potlucks at work.
I know many of you male bloggers cook. That’s why I’m your Number One Fan.
But a man who can’t cook?
Might as well cancel his membership in the Human Race.
Rolling these thoughts over in my head have resulted in the Poetry Friday Word for tomorrow…which is KITCHEN. Feel free to whip this word up into a frothy topping, in whatever blender speed you like…poem, story, photo, YouTube offering, recipe for Beer and Sauerkraut Fudge Cake, tutorial on making a really good stirfry, your first experience working at McNasty FastFood.