Without Any Particular Reason

Last night was a first.

It wasn’t my birthday or mother’s day. I wasn’t just home from a long trip. I was not ill. I just said I wasn’t going to and so I didn’t.

This is the first time in 17 years (when none of the aforementioned applied or when there is some miracle move on my husband’s part like the other evening when he decided to cook) that I have not either personally cooked or otherwise made arrangements for dinner.

Deeper still, this was my husband’s idea.

I was on the couch, my mood noticeably darkening as the dinner hour approached. I’m trying to think what I have on the kitchen and is it something I can really cook. I wonder which one will eat what. I wonder if I have butter. ( I cannot tell you how often I get half way through a prepackaged meal and realize I don’t have some essential ingredient).

So there I was brooding silently.