The other day, I came across a blog courtesy of another blog. Don’t you love how that happens? This one caught my eye because I can COMPLETELY relate to this.. and I couldn’t have said it better myself. I feel the same way. Husband part excepted–I’m not actually married. But the sentiment basically applies:
It’s Not Just My Husband (sorry, husband)
For several years now, I’ve been following what I call the “American diner-style” diet. I follow this diet because:
a) My husband is the cook in our house, and he has the palate of a very picky two-year-old, which results in a rotating menu of chicken fingers, hamburgers, pizza, and grilled cheese.
b) It’s a hassle to cook two completely separate meals-for-one each night; and
c) Up until now, I’ve been able to get away with it.
But lately, things they are a-changing. I no longer feel happily full and treated after a delicious crappy meal. I feel tired, bloated, and vaguely resentful. When we go grocery shopping, I find myself gravitating towards the organic aisle and gazing longingly at stalks of asparagus as that little mister thing lightly sprays them in dew. You don’t want to take me to a restaurant with a salad bar, because it won’t be pretty. I will clean that sucker out. Don’t think I won’t.
And that’s just it! That’s how I feel after the crappy-food meals! I just… can’t seem to convey that appropriately to the other people I live with. I won’t go insane at a salad bar, and while I love to cook (and I’m reasonably good at it) I don’t seem to be the primary cook. Mostly because what I want to eat isn’t “American diner.”
That’s not the only thing that she’s written that I can totally relate to… her rant on people who insist I (should/must/will) have kids is also terribly apropos.
I may just have to start a blogroll. Wow.