I had no intention of writing to you today, but you’ve really pissed me off.
I used to love you but now… I am so sick of you and your insistence on beckoning me every fucking night. I can feel my hatred growing. I’ve felt it for quite some time now, and soon, I’m going to freak the hell out. Like, more than I am right now.
Remember when I used to search for new recipes for hours? I was willing to try anything. And I enjoyed it… both the searching part and the cooking part. That time has passed. I’m sick of all of my dozens of dinner recipes. I’ve tried to find new ones, but it’s like I’ve tried everything. There’s nothing new out there anymore. And not knowing what to cook has fueled my distaste for you, Cooking.
I do know I brought some of this on myself. I never forced my husband to eat the healthy meals I prepared for myself. He’d have this grossed-out look on his face, so I offered to make him something else. That unfortunate habit continued with my kids. Once they outgrew bottles and baby food (during which time we were obviously not eating the same meals), I offered them the same courtesy I offered my husband.
“What would you like for dinner?”
I know. I am an idiot. And I’m also a short-order cook.
Some nights, I cook three or four different dinners. Some nights, only two. Rarely, only one. I have a (very) small stash of recipes I call ‘dinners everyone eats’, and I’m extra sick of making those… and eating them. And, as you might imagine, those are the least healthy of my dinner recipes. But some nights, if everyone else agrees on one of those, I take the win and I eat it, too, whether I feel good about it or not. Trust me, it’s usually ‘or not’.
I can’t seem to flip that switch… and tell everyone, ‘You eat what I make or you don’t eat,’ because my kids will literally not eat. And they will be brought to tears. No, seriously. They will. I’ve tried this many times. My son almost passed out one of the nights I tried this. But he still wouldn’t eat what I made.
I’m stuck with you… still not knowing what to make for dinner… and ultimately making more than one dinner… every fucking night.
No wonder I hate you. I know some of it is on me, but that changes nothing. I’m sick of you. Last night, I cooked for my son… then for my daughter. I told my husband he was on his own. And I skipped dinner entirely.
I still don’t know what the fuck to make for dinner tonight.
Sorry, Cooking. I’ve tried to repair our relationship, but I think it’s beyond repair. I’m done with you. I want a divorce.
Thanks for nothing,
p.s. — This does not apply to your cousin… baking. We still have a decent relationship.