The husband and I dated for about a year before we lived together. During that time, he was living in a fraternity house and I was living with my parents [long story as to why; let's just pretend I needed a cover story for being a super-secret agent]. We spent most of our weekends together at his frat house. Where, I'd say, about 75% of his frat bros saw me naked. Not a lot of door-knocking going on there.
Luckily, I'm not a super bashful person. In fact, I'm that woman you see in the locker room, really going to town drying herself off. Sorry, but I have zero interest in damp underwear.
Anyway, this not about me being naked, nor is it about spending weekends in a frat house, nor is it about my life as a secret agent. Although these would all be interesting posts, I'm sure.
Instead, this is about the first time I made dinner for my husband - then my boyfriend. Or lover. Yeah, let's go with lover. Boyfriend is so 9th grade.
I invited him over and asked him what he wanted. He said he didn't care.
This, as you may imagine, pissed me off.
Not care? Not care what I was going to make for dinner? Really, asshole?
So I kept asking what he wanted, and he kept saying he didn't care, that anything was fine, until finally, I slapped a can of black olives on the table and said, "Fine. We're having olives for dinner. I hope you're happy."
At which point he apologized for upsetting me, which I graciously accepted, and then I think we ordered carry-out.
Of course, I later learned that he is not a fan of olives. So I'm not sure if his apology was heart-felt.
Which kind of pisses me off. Again.
Still sick, so I'm was happy to find this prompt - a memorable dinner.