| Dan the Salad Man |
 My husband is a great blend of Aussie blokiness and liberated man. He takes great pride in helping around the house, and has taken it upon himself to be responsible for making dinner during the week, since neither one of us wants to wait for me to get home to have dinner on the table by 8 pm, just so that we can get to bed by 9 pm. Even when I do cook dinner, he does the salad. Just call him Dan the Salad Man.
During the week, we have salads for dinner. To me, this is pure bliss because, as much as I enjoy cooking, I hate the prep work. If I could have my own sous-chef to prep all of my fruit and veggies for me, I would be in heaven. I don’t know when I developed this aversion to scraping, chopping, snipping, and cutting, but I’m thinking it was somewhere around the age of 12, after I cut myself for the umpteenth time after struggling with an acorn squash. OK, I confess – I am a klutz in the kitchen, although I cook up a mighty tasty spread.
So, Dan does the salad. And he makes a great salad. We were invited to a picnic and movie in the park this past weekend, and Dan decided that he was going to make us a tossed salad to take with the chicken and coleslaw. He even packed up the Eskie cooler and threw in some extras.
Dan and I have only ever been on a picnic together once, several years ago when we went with some friends of his to a model train park. They had young kids. It was chaos. So, this was our first official picnic as a couple.
So, we got to the park and spread out the blanket on the ground (forgetting to put the carry bag somewhere safe,) and set down the picnic basket and cooler. The plates and things were dirty, so Dan rushed off to the public restroom to rinse them off. Meanwhile, I had seated myself next to the cooler, in preparation to start dishing out salads and chicken when Dan got back. I was already helping myself to some French bread. I was starving.
Dan got back and couldn’t understand why I was sitting next to the cooler and kept telling me to move back. ‘But I can’t serve us if I’m sitting this far away from the stuff,’ I am thinking, and I half heartedly moved back a little. I thought he just wanted a little extra room to seat himself next to me. But no – he was getting irritated with me. “Would you PLEASE move back,” he ordered.
Not wanting to argue, I gave up and decided that I was not going to serve us anything. Dan had already “taken charge” and this was HIS picnic. He wanted to set out all of the food on the blanket and I was in the way. We did it his way. Never argue with the person who makes the salad.
Today is Valentine's Day. He couldn't afford to get me roses, but he made me a salad. When you look at it that way, it's Valentine's Day almost every day. |
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Name: Melanie O.
Home: Durham, North Carolina, United States
About Me: Female, American health and beauty-conscious professional who has rekindled a childhood love of dolls.
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posted by Melanie O. at 
