Despite his parents' entirely middle-class existence, Husband was raised as royalty. Mother-in-law often pridefully boasts of her housewifery and mothering skills by relaying that Husband never even had to pour his own cereal in the morning until he moved away for college. Basically, Husband had a staff (of one) to meet his every single need until he was in his 20s. As a result, it's simply a fact that Husband lacks a lot of pretty basic life skills. Well, I mean, he can breath and eat and all that other autonomic stuff, but he is a college-educated professional who cannot run a washer or a dryer, doesn't know where the trash room is in our complex and has to ask every time he wants to heat up soup how to use the microwave.
Husband also suffers from a debilitating disease known (to me, because I made it up) as Profound Laziness. As you can imagine, when one suffers from "PF" and has a former life as the Prince of Constitution Drive, tasks like closing cupboard doors, disposing of empty toilet paper rolls or kicking one's shoes out of the motherfucking middle of the hall can seem truly impossible/insulting.
(A disclaimer: he does iron his own clothes (after I yell from the bedroom how to turn on the goddamned iron,) makes his own breakfast and consistently walks that dogs at night. Also, when he was between jobs a few years ago he also took up cooking and can grill the shit out of any protein you want to eat. I obviously like to eat, so that works out well for me occasionally.)
All this to say that Husband has agreed to make dinner tonight. Who wants to bet that we end up going out to eat? :)
