After yesterday’s events, I was very much looking forward to today: Husband’s day off. I had every intention of wandering off alone (ALONE) to do something frivolous. Unfortunately, he’s sick. Not just a little bit sick, really, sick-in-the-bed, sick.
And so, rather than doing something frivolous, I am doing this.
I am making French Onion Soup from scratch, hoping against hope I can nurse him back to health before I lose my mind because I need help with our children. NOW.
So … I sliced up two pounds of onions, which was a bitch, and they’re cooking on the stove. Husband is a picky eater, and when I told him my plan he said “I’m not really a soup person” and I turned and walked away before I could pick up the pillow next to him and smother him with it.
WHO ISN’T A SOUP PERSON WHEN THEY FEEL LIKE DEATH?
But now I’ve decided that if he chooses not to eat the soup I’ve been slaving over, I’ll just eat the whole damn pot of it myself. Because that is exactly what a good wife should do. Make soup for her sick husband and then when he refuses it, drug him to sleep and EAT. IT. ALL.