He Will Be Taking Her Out To Dinner On Her Anniversary
Being eight months pregnant in no picnic, no matter what the magazines try to tell you. A woman’s back aches, her feet bloat, and her stomach gets so big she can’t even see her toes anymore. Despite feeling like an aerial blimp, though, she’ll still insist on preparing a special home-cooked meal for two, to mark her anniversary.
You go to all the effort of planning a nice, but not too elaborate meal. A roast, perhaps, with baby carrots and mini-potatoes, and a green salad on the side. For desert you chose something simple. An apple pie with scoops of ice-cream sounds good. Not a very ambitious meal-plan, but one as distant as Mount Kilimanjaro for all the effort that it’s going to take.
The problems begin almost as soon as she opens the refrigerator door. The meat that she left to thaw on the top shelf before going to bed last night, is not the problem. That is exactly where she left it. But the vegetables are a completely different matter. Even though her husband assured her time and again that he would not forget to get them out of the bottom drawers for her, he forgot anyway. It takes an effort worthy of Hercules for her to manage to bend down low enough and get them out herself.
But once her vegetables where she wanted them, she promptly set about peeling and cleaning them. This was no mean feat in itself, considering the distance her belly put between herself and such things as the counter and the sink. She was starting to wish that her arms were at least two feet longer when she reached for the knife set and noticed something that she had never noticed before. There were instructions of some sort glued to the side of the block.
Curious, she held it up to the light in order to see them better. What she saw caused her to immediately put it back down in confusion. The instructions were a notice warning her not use the knives when pregnant or on an anniversary.
Strange, but not as strange as the one she had found on the microwave instructing her not to operate it within a one hundred-foot radius of the coffee maker. She decided she would ignore this one just as she had that one. Instead, she went to get out the roasting pan, only to discover that she could not reach it, no matter what she did or tried. It kept dodging from her fingertips, as if refusing to be captured by them. She huffed, she puffed, she tried; all to no avail.
When it happens for about the fifteenth time, she suddenly pictures herself bending over the roast, her back aching, as she bastes it again and again. All the times that her husband told her to sit back and take it easy come flooding back to her, and she understands why the warning about pregnant women using knives on their anniversary is there. She isn’t surprised at all when he calls her a few minutes later and asks if maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t prefer going out to a really good restaurant tonight?
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Tags: anniversary, dating out, dinner date
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