Something horrible has happened.
For the past two weeks, I have been forced to cook my own meals.
Ibis and I have a nice trade-off: I do all the cleaning and he does all the cooking. It may sound lopsided but he's a really good cook and I don't mind most of the cleaning. (He does still have to mop.) We don't always eat every meal together: I often make my own eggs for breakfast and I can handle snacks and sandwiches, but the big meals... that's all him.
If you've been following along you know he's been working as a waiters' captain at a hotel. He gets home early enough that we could eat together, but the one perk (since he's yet to see a paycheck) is they feed him. And I'm not talking tacos and beans; the employees get real meals, with fish or other meats, plus dessert.
I've been dining on sandwiches and Cup O'Noodle.
He feels bad that my diet has tanked since he's been there, and he's even said he wants to put some food in his pocket to bring home to me. Like Napolean Dynamite and his tots. I've even debated hanging out at the beach near his hotel so he can sneak me a nice meal. It's sounds pathetic, I know, but I've been spoiled since we've been together. And yes, this is why I cooked our Christmas dinner.
Well, last night Ibis came home and pulled a napkin-wrapped lump out of his pocket. "Look what I have for you!"
I opened it, eager to see what was inside.
Sure, it's not filet mignon or a day's catch, but since I'd already eaten my sandwich, dessert was just what I wanted.
I wonder what he'll bring home today...