Here’s a trend that makes zero sense: when my dear wife is away in the evening, be it for work or for school or some such post-work activity, the kids and I almost always end up eating out. I reckon this isn’t unusual, for dads to forgo the kitchen on nights mom isn’t at home (I’ve seen you huddled together in the mall food court), but considering that I am the chef of this particular chateau, the behavior is baffling.
I mention this now because we three did it again last night, running out to Cheeburger Cheeburger for shakes, fries, onion rings and, well, burgers. The mailman had, only minutes earlier, dropped off a free kid’s meal postcard, part of the Cheeburger kiddie birthday club thing, and, like a crack whore stumbling upon a crisp $20, it was all the motivation I needed to demonstrate a complete lack of motivation to prepare dinner myself. So after I finished mowing the lawn and showered up, we got our eat on at our favorite burger joint.
Why do I flee the kitchen when the wifey is away? I think that, while I love putting plates of from-scratch goodness down in front of the kids, what I fancy more is cooking and serving the Mrs. after her demanding 9-5. When I know I’m not scheduled to get the chance to do so, I throw in the towel and flash the debit card in order to be cooked for and served by a smiling stranger, with no spills to wipe up, dishes to clean, or leftovers to catalog away.
