When I was in college, about twenty-five years ago, I had this boyfriend. One day he was in the kitchen and I needed help with something. I can't for the life of me remember what, but when I asked him for help he said, "I can't, I'm cooking." Now, had he had three pots going at once and a spoon in each hand, I would've understood. But what was happening is that he was standing by the microwave...watching something get reheated...that still had a couple minutes of time left. And, no, that isn't the reason we broke up.
But I was reminded of that long-ago event a few days ago when I asked my kid (who will remain unspecified) to make a phone call for me.
Me: "Hey, will you call dad and let him know I'm actually
cooking a meal for us tonight?" (Yup, homemaker of the year I am not.)
One of my kids: "I can't right now, I'm only wearing my underwear."
While my family doesn't benefit much from my culinary skills, I absolutely benefit in a HUGE way from their awesome sense of humor.
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