Last week was pretty bad.
My husband likes keeping active and on Saturdays usually plays basketball in the morning and has a flag football game later in the morning or early afternoon. I've met all his flag football friends and they are fun people. They've welcomed me to Dallas and are a cool bunch of people.
I think there's something that happens when you are all alone. You have too much time to think. To much time to contemplate. And too much time to lay blame where blame need not be laid. Seriously.
That Saturday, my husband called me to let me know that he was heading over to the bar to hang out with his football buddies. And I, having a grand plan of cooking lunch for us, said okay, but didn't really mean it. I was upset. I was upset because he was messing up my plans and didn't even know he was doing anything to make me angry. It's so easy to be unreasonable.
Well, I proceeded with my lunch plans, now for just one, and cooked anyway.
These were from the America's Test Kitchen Cookbook. I think I may have over-seasoned the turkey, but they were still good nonetheless. My husband missed out.
I don't know why women like to punish their men by trying to make them guess how they feel. But we do it. We all do it. And the plain honest truth is that men probably don't even notice. Like, not even a little. I've learned that speaking is better than stewing in silence. Trying to make your husband/boyfriend/significant other guess what's wrong with you isn't fun. It usually ends in tears and unflattering, incomprehensible blubbering. Or maybe that's just me.
Talk. It's better than grunting angrily.
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