Lately when I'm tired and don't want to make dinner, but want my husband to think I've put some effort into preparing him a meal, I buy a rotisserie chicken and a box of Velveeta Shells and Cheese. I can't say I ever remember having Velveeta, ever. Not once. I never knew how amazing it was. Every time I make it I feel like I'm a bad wife for serving something to my husband that was so easy to prepare. This is soley my mom's fault. Something along the lines of a women is worthless if she can't cook. She's only kidding, sort of. She's programmed me to not like overly pre-prepared meals. I walk through the grocery store and see other women choosing Hamburger Helper and the "just throw in the pot and heat" stir fry combinations and I feel a singe of jealousy go through my bones. But I just can't do it. Once I bought one of those frozen meals that you cook in a crockpot. By the time it was finished I threw it out, because I couldn't bare the thought of serving it to Nathan. We weren't married then and maybe I was afraid he would change his mind. Whenever I serve Velveeta I apologize to him. (Even though I secretly don't care, because I'm too focused on how delicious it will taste.)
My mom was right though. When he introduces me to people sometimes he randomly throws in the fact that I can cook. Thanks Mom.