And this is why I drink . . .
RIC: Do you know what day it is?
ME: The 20th?
RIC: No; well, yeah, but I mean the DAY.
ME: Sunday?
RIC: That’s right.
ME: We did the grocery shopping yesterday.
RIC: I know. Buy I was thinking - do you know what you have not made in a loooong time?
ME: Whatever could it be?
RIC: Spaghetti.
ME: I made that just the other week.
RIC: Yeah, but that was on a weekday.
ME: So.
RIC: It’s not the same. On weekdays you rush through it.
ME: Well, I do work, you know. Besides - you seem to like it anyway.
RIC: Yes. It’s good. I am just saying that when you make it on Sunday, you start in the morning and the sauce simmers all day while you care and tend to it. By the time you serve it, it’s perfect.
ME: That’s right. I work on it ALL day. I bust my ass to make you the “perfect” spaghetti and while I do that, what are you doing? Napping? Watching TV?
RIC: I do more than that and you know it!
ME: I do; I do. I don’t mean to minimize what you do. And I really appreciate all that you do. I am just saying that after working all week I don’t necessarily want to spend my ENTIRE Sunday making spaghetti. I have other things to do and I need to rest, too. And sometimes, I am not sure if you appreciate all of the effort.
RIC: So, you punish me by not making it even though you know I love it so.
ME: I am not punishing you.
RIC: Then make me some spaghetti.
ME: Fine.
RIC: And I want meatballs - not bolognese.
ME: That’s even more work.
RIC: So are you saying that you don’t love me enough to make meatballs?
ME: Fine. I will make spaghetti and meatballs. Happy?
RIC: From scratch.
ME: Of course.
RIC: Then I'll know what you really love me.
ME: Open the wine.
Comentários