The Language of Love - Humor

The Language of Love
Dorothy Rosby

My husband says it’s his night to cook. That means we’re eating out. I know this, and I approve. After 28 years of marriage, we have our own language and nothing demonstrates it better than the ritual of dining out.

He says, “Are you ready?” I say, “Yes.” We both know that means I’ll be ready as soon as I put on my shoes, find my purse, discover that my phone isn’t in it, and tear the house apart to find it.

Then I say, “Are you ready.” And he says, “Yes.” We both know that means he’ll be ready as soon as we find his glasses. My husband and I share many activities, among them are hiking, camping, dancing and looking for his glasses.

As a wife and mother, one of my superpowers is knowing the whereabouts of everyone’s belongings except my own. But today, he finds his glasses without my help because when I was checking the kitchen counter, I got sidetracked reading the mail. When he says, “Are you ready” we both know, my “yes” means I’ll be ready as soon as I finish.

Eventually, we make it to the car, and I say, “Where do you want to go?”

He says decisively, “I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”

To break the stalemate, I say “Mexican.” We both have veto power in all important decisions in our marriage, including where to go to dinner. I love Mexican, but I’ve known him long enough to know he will most likely veto it, so what I’m really saying is “I don’t feel like making a decision.”

If he is feeling charitable, he may agree to Mexican. Or he may choose something else I like, which is easy because I like almost anything. Either way, I win.

But he says, “How about ribs?” As I said, I like almost anything—except ribs. He knows this, so he’s either saying he really has a hankering for ribs, or he’s annoyed I didn’t help him find his glasses.

I veto the ribs, which is my way of saying I’ve helped him find his glasses plenty of times.

Eventually, we settle on a steakhouse and, as usual, I order something involving lean protein and vegetables, all the while hoping the waitress will mess up my order and bring a ribeye with cheddar mashed potatoes and asparagus—wrapped in bacon. And she does! For my husband. Because that’s what he ordered.

He digs in. I ogle the ribeye. Finally, I say, “Mine is good. Want to try it?” This really means, “I’d love to try that.”

He says, “No thanks” and barely looks up from his plate. But then he says, “Do you want to try mine?” I say, “I suppose,” nonchalantly, which really means, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He gives me a taste, and it’s fabulous. I finish my meal, lick my plate and watch him like a vulture. He’s slowing down. So I say, “Are you going to finish that?” which means, “If you don’t, I will.”

Dorothy Rosby Dorothy Rosby’s husband cooks every Friday night.

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