“We don’t own a broiler pan…”

The phone is ringing.

It’s my husband, calling as he always does as he drives home from work. It’s likely been a long, hard day. It always is, and I say that with sympathy, not annoyance. He loves his job, but it takes a toll. He works in stocks and investments and it’s tax time.

I pick up the phone.

“We don’t own a broiler pan and we don’t have any foil!” I whine miserably as my greeting.

There’s a pause for only a split second. “I don’t really care.”

I care.”

“I’m stuck in rush hour traffic and you expect me to care about that?” He seemed vaguely amused, but also exasperated with me.

“No. But I was going to make steak! I’m trying to be a good housewife so you won’t make me go back to work.”

“…I usually cook steak in a skillet.” Now he was definitely amused. (I hope.)

“Eww why? I was gonna broil it.”

“Why would you boil steak?”

Broil. Brrrrrr-roil. Brrrrrrrrrrrroil.”

“Uh huh…”

“I don’t know how to cook it in a skillet. Then again, I don’t know how to broil it either… But there’s Google!”

“I’ll show you when I get home.”

“…You’re going to end up cooking the steaks, aren’t you?” I was disappointed and it could be heard in my tone.


“I’ll make the potatoes?”

“Well, that’s something…”

“We really need a broiler pan…”

I married my best friend on March 28 and since then I’ve realized there’s been a horrible mistake. Not because he wasn’t the right man to marry, but because the poor fool doesn’t seem to have realized what he’s signed on for!

Okay, that may be a little dramatic. But I married him March 28. Between April 1 and 3, I moved myself and my four-year-old daughter into his apartment. On April 14, I lost my main job. This weekend has been full of what’s felt like chaos so it wasn’t until last night that he and I were able to really finalize what we’re going to do now.

I still have a second job and it’s the same job, but from home and less pay and fewer hours, plus a different employer. We’ll be fine on his income, though, so for the time being I’m going to be focusing on being a housewife and mom.

Of course, I don’t know how to cook.

Honestly, I find myself at the desperate point where I have no idea what I’m doing or how I’m going to do it. I can’t cook. I admit to a profound laziness more often than is healthy and hate cleaning. But now I need to learn how to wife.

My mother helped me plan meals for the week and took me to the grocery store. I had every intention to make steak and impress my husband with my housewife skills. But then when he got home, he wasn’t even hungry and, truthfully, neither was I.

It’s 8:04 and I’m eating Cocoa Krispies for dinner.

I’m off to a good start…



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