The pretty ones

Coffee, ramen with an egg and lots of spice. That’s how I like to start my day. My husband now enjoys the same morning routine because I make his breakfast. Of course, if he requests anything else, I am more than happy to make whatever he asks me to.

Lately, my routine has been to bake eggs in a muffin tin and store them in the fridge so I can save time on having to make eggs in the morning. If you haven’t tried this, you should give it a go, especially if you’re the type who is always rushing in the mornings. This will change your life!

This morning I boiled water in a saucepan like I do every single morning, plopped one of the eggs in, added some fresh spinach and then the ramen. While my husband starts on his bowl of breakfast, I start making my own and I realized that I had picked out the prettiest of the eggs for him. The egg I chose for myself was one that didn’t turn out so well. It was ugly looking but still tasty. It occurred to me that I often do that when I cook for us. Whichever piece of chicken or bun or meatball comes out hideous will go on my own plate and the pretty ones go to my husband. But why do I do that?

Here’s what I came up with;

Do you remember the beginning of your relationship? Those times when you tried your very best to be almost perfect to your love interest? Of course you remember it. You never farted. You barely burped. You laughed at everything and boy oh boy were you flirty. If anything you were almost surreal. I know because I was the same.

I realize I’m still self conscious about a lot of the things I do around the man I married. Don’t get me wrong, I think I fart more than he does. I barely wear makeup around the house and my mood swings drive him crazy. I try my best to keep the house organized and most days I succeed! But when it comes to cooking, I’m almost in OCD mode. I really enjoy taking care of him and making us delicious meals. To be honest, I think I do it more for him than for me. I get paranoid when a meal I have pictured in my head doesn’t turn out the way I wanted it to and I always always always make sure his plate of food looks pretty. This means his food will have no burnt pieces of meat and soggy looking whatchamacallits.

My mother used to do that when I was a child. She’d make sure my sister and I (because we were the youngest) got the best looking food and she’d save the not so appetizing looking parts for her own plate. I don’t think I ever thought of that till today. I will most likely do the same with our children, should we have any.

I suppose we all have our little quirks. They can get pretty outrageous when it concerns the people we love. Perhaps deep down I still want to be the perfect woman I tried to make myself out to be in the beginning. Maybe I still try to coax the occasional, “Wow” out of him, to show him how much I appreciate him. I want to awe him and impress him because his approval means the world to me. I know I don’t need it but I sure do enjoy it.

He does the same for me. From time to time he’ll do things that just make me so grateful I have him. He opens doors for me, he increases the thermostat when I get cold and on Fridays he takes me out to dinner because he wants to give me a break from cooking.

I think about all the people in the world, whether they are in relationships or not and what they may do for the people they love. Do they pick out the pretty ones for a loved ones plate as well? Do they have hangups about needing to look perfect in front of certain people? It sounds like a flaw when I say it that way but I don’t believe it is. We’re all human after all. We were designed to need the approval of the people around us, especially the ones we love.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s