“Why Jeremy No Longer Tells His Wife What He Wants for Dinner”
“Dont you ever ask what Id like for dinner anymore?” Jeremy asked his wife as he headed out to work one morning. “Or does it not matter now?”
“I thought Id surprise you with something I picked,” Emma replied flatly. “But if youd rather, I can make whatever you want.”
“Its not about that,” Jeremy said. “Its the principle. Is it really so hard to ask? Dont you even care?”
“Honestly? No,” Emma admitted. “Not one bit. Whats so interesting about it?”
“Oh, brilliant!” Jeremy huffed. “So now suddenly you dont care? But you used to ask. Back then, it clearly mattered!”
Emma paused.
“Well,” she thought to herself, “hes got a point. I did used to ask. Awkward. Fine, Ill askjust to shut him up.”
“What would you like for dinner, then?” she asked.
Jeremy smirked.
“Playing nice now, are we?” he mused. “Ah, well. No point being difficult. Marriage is all about compromise, after all. Might as well be gracious. Im not some controlling brute. Got to let the little things slide. Otherwise, what kind of person would that make me?”
“Alright,” he said magnanimously. “Shepherds pie.”
“What kind?” Emma pressed. “Lamb or beef? Or maybe fish pie instead?”
“Anything but fish!” Jeremy groaned. “Are you taking the mick? You know Ive hated fish pie since school. Those little bonesdisgusting!”
“Oops,” Emma thought. “Whyd I suggest that? Hes told me a hundred times how he choked on fish pie in the canteen. Blimey, now hell harp on about it all week. Oh, and I mustnt forgethe detests custard too.”
“What about sides?” she asked quickly. “Mash, chips, or peas? Maybe some roast carrots?”
“Chips,” Jeremy said. “Proper crispy ones, none of that soggy nonsense.”
“Of course, darling,” Emma said sweetly. “Crispy chips, no worries.”
“Wasnt worried,” Jeremy said smugly. “No reason to be. Youre the one who should worry.”
“Ugh, whyd I say that?” he scolded himself. “Trying to sound superior? Just made myself look petty. Still got a long way to go before Im half as decent as I pretend.”
“If its not too much trouble, love,” he added gently, “could you make a salad? Tomatoes, cucumberyou know the one.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Emma cooed. “Anything else?”
“With garlic and parsley,” Jeremy reminded her.
“Garlic and parsley,” Emma echoed, smiling.
“And dressing.”
“Dressing.”
“Oh, and sprinkle parsley on the chips too,” Jeremy added. “And some fried onions.”
“Exactly as you like, dear,” Emma said.
With a cheerful goodbye, Jeremy left for work. But all day, he couldnt shake the feeling something was off. Emma had been different. He couldnt place it. Distracted, he muddled through his tasks, puzzling over her odd behaviour.
“Right,” he decided. “Tonight, Ill sit her down and sort this out. Maybe I upset her without realising. Need to fix it before it gets worse.”
At dinner, Jeremy poked half-heartedly at his shepherds pie, glancing at Emma as she happily devoured a golden roast chicken. She slathered it in gravy, taking big, satisfied bites, grinning at him between mouthfuls.
“Hang on,” Jeremy said. “Why are you eating roast chicken when Ive got shepherds pie?”
“Fancied chicken instead,” Emma said, chewing. “When you said pie, I realised I didnt want it. But this? Absolute perfection. Garlic and rosemarycrispy skin. Divine. Something wrong?”
“No, but” Jeremy frowned. “I thought wed both have shepherds pie.”
“Silly man,” Emma thought. “As if Id eat his dull pie when I could have this.”
“Sorry, love,” she said, mouth full. “But isnt this better? You eat what you like, I eat what I like. Everyones happy!”
“Charming,” Jeremy muttered. “Can I have some chicken too? Looks proper tasty.”
“Nope,” Emma said. “Made just enough for me. But youve got all that lovely pie! And salad! And chips! Tuck in, darling.”
“But youve got a whole drumstick left,” Jeremy protested. “Ill share my pie!”
“Thats mine,” Emma said firmly. “Made two, just for me. You enjoy your pie.”
Jeremy chewed glumly, watching Emma demolish the second drumstick with relish. His pie turned to cardboard in his mouth.
“I roasted it extra crispy,” Emma announced. “Crunchy skinheaven. Wish you could taste it.”
“I bet,” Jeremy muttered.
He forced a smile, finishing his last forkful.
Next morning, as he left for work, Jeremy studied Emma carefully.
“What would you like for dinner, dear?” she asked brightly.
“Roast chicken,” Jeremy said firmly. “Dreamt about the blasted thing all night. Make it just like yours. No sidesjust gravy.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Emma said.
That evening, Jeremy picked at his chicken without enthusiasm. Emma, meanwhile, was happily tucking into beef stew.
“Best when its piping hot,” she said cheerfully. “Could eat this forever. Always loved beef stew.”
The week passed in agony. Each night, Jeremy suffered through Emmas culinary theatricsroast lamb, fish and chips, even a full fry-up.
“I want fish too,” he whined one evening.
“Why didnt you say this morning?” Emma asked innocently. “Ive gone and made you sausages.”
“How was I supposed to know?” Jeremy grumbled. “Couldve given me a hint!”
“Didnt know myself till now,” Emma said.
“Just a bite?” he pleaded.
“Not a chance,” Emma said firmly. “And leave my plate alone.”
Next morning, as she asked about dinner, Jeremy shook his head.
“No more games, love,” he said. “Youve had your fun. From now on, whatever you make for yourself, make double. Same thing.”
From that day on, Jeremy never told Emma what he wanted for dinner.
**Lesson:** In love, fairness mattersbut so does knowing when to stop keeping score.
