January 9, 2018

It is currently 4:43 pm and I just got back from the supermarket. Abigail is at her spin class right now, which means that I have about two hours before she gets back home.

Dr. Coleman says that spontaneous acts of romance can help strengthen our relationship. She asked me what random gestures I've executed throughout our relationship. Apparently picking up toothpaste at the supermarket without Abigail asking doesn't count. And so, to explore my more spontaneous side, I decided to make dinner even though the only thing I have ever cooked in my life is cereal. I figured this could also function as an apology for the comments (regardless of whether not they were true) I made about her mother.

Anyways, I got all of the stuff for spaghetti and meatballs, which is one of Abigail's favorite foods. It seems easy enough... how hard can it be to throw some noodles in a pot and toss some meatballs on a pan, right?

UPDATE:

So clearly I underestimated how difficult this cooking thing was going to be. My first problem was that I didn't know how to turn on the stove. That took a good twenty minutes to figure out. But even after I discovered that it was one of those ones where you have to push the knob in before turning (I really should have paid more attention when Abigail explained it to me when we first got it), things didn't go much smoother. My second problem (and this is pretty much the main one) was that I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. Season pasta water with a dash of salt. What was a "dash?" Was it a sprinkling or was it more of a pinch? How much was a pinch? Is it a big pinch or a little pinch? Boil pasta in water until cooked. How was I supposed to know when it was "cooked?" Long story short, my pasta water tasted like the Dead Sea, my noodles were overcooked, and my meatballs burned because I was too busy being confused to give them any attention. Needless to say, Abigail didn't get her homemade dinner or her apology that night.

-Eli