What’s For Dinner? Who Gives a Shit!

Cooking and shopping is lots of work — in case you didn’t know

About two years ago, my boyfriend T and I decided that I would shop and cook, and he would pay me a part-time salary to do it. It seemed like a good idea. I had more time, he had more money. It just made sense. I even wrote an article praising our arrangement and was full of good feelings about the whole thing, feelings that remained for a good long while, until they went away.

It started with lunch. I would wake up with an idea of something I wanted to start writing, or the energy to continue on something I already started, and I would be like for the love of Christ I have to go make a sandwich right now, fuck that so hard. I know that doesn’t seem like a big deal but I think I am just bad at wanting to do something (writing) but having to do something first (make a sandwich). Once I make the sandwich, I am just not the same person I was before I made it.

I started waking up mad, thinking how I was going to have to figure out what we were going to eat. And then I was going to have to make sure we had all the ingredients. And then I was going to have to make it. And I wouldn’t have to necessarily clean up, but once I cooked the kitchen would be a disaster, and someone would have to clean it up. And if it was T, I would feel…