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I was lucky enough to get a man who likes to cook. And he’s pretty good at it too. On the downside, I’ve become too reliant upon him for my meals, and whereas I used to be able to make a few tasty dishes that were a little fancier than PB&J and Mac&Cheese, now I’m basically useless in the kitchen. I think it’s good advice to be able to take care of your meals, even if you get lucky enough to have a live-in kitchen slave to do it for you.
I’ve always been anti boob job, but now that I’ve had a taste of bigger boobs, thanks to producing my own milk, I’m seriously considering getting one. Maybe we can find a doctor that’s offering a 2 for 1 special!
I don’t get it. All of the guys in my law school seemed to cook quite well, whereas the women couldn’t fry water, as my father (of an obviously older generation) described his own cooking skills.
(Well, there was the OCD-manic depressive roommate who would bake the most delicious cookies when depressed. She claimed that her tears were what made them taste so delicious. I’m occassionaly sorry (not really) for secretly killing her prized orchid. I kid, I kid.)
Sure, the women were attending law school, an obvious and welcome advance over previous generations, but this arguably suggests a situation of a zero-sum skill set.
So now men of this generation are expected to not only kill spiders, change a flat tire, fix the leaking faucet, *and* cook. Women, on the other hand, have to master, um…let me get back to you…
Just stirring the roux…
nice ending
It Doesn’t matter which gender cooks as long as one party doesn’t mind doing the dishes.
Boob jobs are great fun for the guy, if you let him play. But he might enjoy your cooking long after your looks have faded and boobs have sagged a few inches. You might even enjoy cooking together, assuming he’s got cooking skills, too.