Are they trying to send a message?
When I walked into the kitchen that fateful evening, something was wrong. There was a strange tension in the air, almost like a warning. My day was already exhausting and I was looking forward to a quiet evening at home. But what I saw on the fridge door made my stomach drop. A meticulously written menu, the kind I’d only seen in gourmet cookbooks, was pinned to the fridge with a “cook it today” note.
Thad always liked my diligent approach to work.
I was a productive project manager for a growing technology business, which meant I often worked long hours and took work home on weekends.
Despite my demanding profession, I managed to keep the household running smoothly. I balanced grocery shopping, housework, and the occasional dinner with friends.
My husband Tom worked as an accountant with a regular job. He took weekends off, worked normal business hours, and was rarely late.
Yet he constantly showed his tiredness and anxiety. Accepting more didn’t bother me because I loved Tom and was committed to our union.
But things went too far that day. When I came home from another exhausting day at work, my shoulders ached from the weight of my duties.
As I was putting my luggage by the door, I saw something strange on the fridge. On the magnet was a nicely written menu and Tom’s handwritten note saying “Cook it today.”
I looked at the menu and felt my blood pressure rise. It featured gourmet dishes such as Lobster Thermidor, Coq au Vin, and Beef Wellington in ascending degrees of complexity. My eyes didn’t seem real. Tom expected me to come home and make these elaborate dinners because I put in more hours at work than he did.
My initial fury cooled to cold resolve. I picked up the phone and texted Tom.
“Why is there a menu on the fridge, do you think I’m going to prepare everything?
Tom answered quickly. “Yes, I believed that having some order and variety in our meals would help. You’re an excellent cook, so I think you can handle it. Tell me how it works!”
I was shocked by his condescending response. Tom will have his gourmet dinners, but not in the way he imagined.
I took a deep breath and tried to relax.
That was overkill. When he got home, I decided to confront him.
Tom came in an hour later and started whistling.
“Hello, Sarah,” he called happily.
“Hello,” I said in a cold tone of voice. “We need to talk.
He gave me a confused look. “About what?”
I pointed to the fridge. “About this menu.
Tom looked at it, then back at me, his expression unchanged, confused. “What about it?”
“You expect me to cook all these meals after a full day’s work?” I raised my voice and asked. “I hardly have time to breathe, Tom.
He shrugged. “I just thought some variation would be delicious. You always have the best food so I thought you’d like it.”
“Enjoy it?” I repeated incredulously. “I barely have time to eat, let alone cook gourmet meals.
Tom frowned. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.
“Well, it is,” exclaimed the man. “I’m exhausted, Tom. I need help, not more work.”
He looked shocked. “Sarah, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”
I shook my head. “No, no. And here’s the problem.”
Tom’s frown widened. “So now I’m to blame for your overwork? Sarah, all I wanted was better food. Is it that bad?”
I could feel the anger building up inside me. “It’s not unreasonable to want to eat better, but to expect me to do everything is! Tom, I’m not a machine.”
“I never said I did,” he replied, raising his voice in response. “Yet you act like I’m not doing anything here. You know I’m working too.”
You regularly work and rest at home. I still take care of the house, work late hours, and bring assignments home. Is that fair?
Tom threw up his hands in annoyance. “So, Sarah, what are you asking me to do? Give up my job? Continue to cook at home all day?”
I gave him a wild look. “I wish you would recognize my efforts and contribute more. It’s about sharing responsibility, not giving up your work.”
“Responsibilities?” Tom smiled. “I’ll take care of the bills, the yard, and the maintenance of the cars. Does that seem insignificant to you?”
“I’m not saying it’s nothing,” I retorted, my voice shaking with rage. “But that’s not all.
You are not privy to my daily struggles.
Preparing delicious meals is just another unattainable goal.”
Tom went red in the face. Ok, maybe I missed something. However, you don’t seem to appreciate what I do either. You make me feel worthless.”
I clenched my hands and tried to stay calm. “Tom, I’m asking for your cooperation. So that you don’t feel unproductive. Why is this so hard for you to understand?”
He countered, “Maybe because you’re always on edge.” “As if nothing I do is good enough for you.
“Because you don’t listen!” I shouted. “All you can see is your adorable little menu and I’m drowning here. It’s important to feel support, not food.”
Tom stood up and let out a loud screech as his chair hit the floor. “I’ve had enough of this exchange. I need some fresh air.”
We stood for a while, but I could see that this was not the end of the conversation. Tom needed a lot of education on how to keep order in our lives. And without going crazy, I had to figure out how to explain myself to him.
This was just the beginning.
Over the next few days, I went about my regular activities, but I had a different strategy in mind. I called and set everything up as it should.
Tom arrived home on Friday morning to the smell of nicely cooked beef in Wellington.
“Wow, that looks amazing!” Tom sat down at the table and cried out.
I hid my honest feelings with a charming smile.
“I’m glad you like it. I thought I’d start with your favorite.”
Tom sighed in pleasure after taking a bite. “That’s cool. You know, you would never have realized you had this gift if I hadn’t forced you to. To be honest, I think the beef could have been a little more tender.”
At that moment, a man in a chef’s suit came out of the kitchen. In a polite but firm tone, he asked, “Is there something wrong with the beef, sir?”
It froze with the fork halfway to Tom’s mouth. “Who are you?” was his stutter.
I lay down and stared at the view. “My name is Martin, a cook. He cooked me this dinner.
And I gave him the cash you were going to spend on your new vehicle.”
Tom’s face turned red in various places, making it difficult for him to speak. “You..what did you do?”
“Now that I’m taking care of the house and putting in long hours at work, do you expect me to provide you with good food every day? I felt that you would benefit from a lesson in preparing such food. Even as a master chef, Chef Martin is unable to consistently produce flawless meat, I think you will respect what I am doing now.
Chef Martin nodded with a smile. “Sir, it’s not easy. It takes a lot of talent and time to prepare delicious meals.
Tom lay down, his conceit waning. “Sarah, I’m sorry. I was being unfair and I didn’t realize it. I didn’t realize how much work these meals would require of you, but I still thought they would be enjoyable.”
My face contorted a little. “I’m glad you understand me. Next time let’s work together to create a meal plan that suits both of us.”
After dinner, they respected each other again. After that day, Tom never prepared a heavy menu again, and the two took turns preparing simple but tasty meals.
The realization that marriage is a partnership—a delicate balance of shared responsibilities and mutual respect—ultimately brought us together. It wasn’t about gourmet meals or who worked more hours; it was about recognizing each other’s efforts and appreciating how we both contributed to our lives together. After this eye-opening dinner, we learned to communicate more openly and honestly, ensuring that neither of us felt overwhelmed or underappreciated. Our marriage grew stronger as we faced the challenges of everyday life, not by avoiding conflict, but by facing it with understanding and compromise.
Tom never again designed an elaborate menu without considering the time and effort involved, and I never felt burdened with unrealistic expectations. Instead, we found joy in cooking together on the weekend, creating simpler meals that allowed us to spend quality time together without the added stress. It wasn’t just about the food; it was about the bond we cultivated. And in the end, it was worth more than any gourmet meal could ever be.
Through this experience, we learned an important lesson: a successful marriage is not about grand gestures or flawless execution; it’s about small, everyday moments of support, understanding, and love. And with this newfound perspective, we were ready to face whatever challenges life threw our way—together.
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