The stress of the holidays can get to you. It doesn't take much. You are running and shopping and mailing and baking on top of all the usual craziness and it doesn't take much for you to feel out of step. Miscommunication has been an issue for G and I lately. It goes in cycles in our house as I am sure it does in every family. Sometimes you click, you are in-sync, sometimes you are...not. It happens more when things get busy, and I don't worry about it too much. Until the other day, when I stumbled upon a realization that shook me to my very core. When I learned that something I had considered to be a fundamental truth was false. My marriage is based partially upon a misconception. It turns out...
Not a big deal, you say?
Sure, I can see why you would think that this is frivolous.
I mean, after all, it's. just. pot roast.
Pot roast. The easy, simple, impossible to screw up, throw-it-in-and-walk-away dinner. Except for the fact that I can't make it. That's not entirely true, I can indeed make it, it just isn't very good. My pot roast is one of those meals that when served, I am praised as if I am 12 and this is the first meal I have ever cooked. Oh, sure, people eat it, because it's rude to come to dinner and not eat what is served, not because it is delicious-just-like-grandma-makes-it. Now, please understand, I am not begging for your recipes and tips for delectable pot roast. The truth is that I can't stand pot roast. The vegetables are smushy and everything tastes the same. I'm not even going to get into all my particular issues with this meal, just know that it makes me gag a little just thinking about it. That's not the point either. The point is, that my husband likes pot roast, and gosh-darnit!!! I am going to make my man pot roast. No husband of mine is going to wish for his Mama's homecookin' no sireee! So, every six weeks or so (for the past 12 YEARS!!!) I stare at the roast in the meat department and decide that THIS TIME will be it, that I will conquer the beef and my husband will declare it the best dinner. ever.
So imagine my surprise when we are discussing possible meal options for the upcoming week and he mentions his indifference to the roast.
Turns out, he thought I liked it.
It's a world gone mad.