“This man of mine may truly kill me.”
A line from Gone Girl? Or the sentence that came out of my mouth last week when I thought my husband was trying to poison me?
What I have for you here is a story about the night that I was pretty sure my husband was trying to kill me…or as he likes to innocently call it, “the night he offered to cook dinner.”
First, I should point out that I’m not a paranoid person by nature. I tend to believe you if you tell me something, I tend to think everyone has good intentions, I tend to think that if you do something wrong it was just an innocent mistake. But I’m also no fool. (Although, after rereading that last part, I sound EXACTLY like a fool. But that is neither here nor there…) If someone who doesn’t know how to work our stovetop, or our oven, or our microwave offers to make me dinner…I’m very suspicious. Very.
Let me just start at the beginning.
It was a cold and stormy afternoon. The kids had just gotten home from school and the house was in it’s usual chaos when I received the first text from my husband:
I fully expected the text exchange to be the usual exchange about our dinner plans. Something along the lines of this:
Which would’ve then been followed by him telling me how he hasn’t eaten all day, not even one snack, and has barely even had time for a glass of water. To which I would’ve responded by telling him that it’s not my problem that he doesn’t eat when he’s hungry. And then he’d be all “you’re so cold-hearted” and I’d be all “no suh” and he’d be all “ya huh” But regardless…that is not how things went down. Instead, things went like this:
Creepy, right? It may not seem like anything is amiss, but you should know that in the history of our entire relationship (except in the very beginning one time on New Year’s Eve when he was trying to woo me) he has never ever (ever) offered to cook me dinner. Ever. So you can naturally see why I immediately figured that he was trying to poison me. What else could it be. I called my sister and told her the story. She agreed. Attempted murder. I talked to my friend. She, too, was highly suspicious. What was he up to? I made them both promise to have the medical examiner test the contents of my stomach were I to drop dead in the next 24 hours. They both agreed that it made sense…this could be the end for me. Death by baked stuffed shrimp.
It’s important to note that NOT eating the baked stuffed shrimp meal was not an option because, YUM! baked stuffed shrimp! With fries! Of course I was gong to take my chances and eat it. I love baked stuffed shrimp!
So here we are two weeks later and I’m happy to report that I am still alive. I ate the baked stuffed shrimp that he made for dinner, and it was freaking awesome! I could barely even taste the poison. ha ha. It turns out that my husband either wasn’t trying to poison me (but instead decided on a whim to make dinner for some bizarre reason that I will probably never figure out) or my body is super human and I was able to internally fight off the poisoned part of the meal and emerge victorious and alive.
Either way, I live to blog another day.
p.s. before anyone goes on any kind of weird, holier-than-thou, “I can’t believe your husband never cooks you dinner” bandwagon, you should know that my husband is an absolute dreamboat. He is busy doing a million amazingly awesome things every day, and making dinner each night has always been my thing. I may hate it, suck at it, and wish I didn’t have to do it every night. But still, I take ownership of it. And by the way, just to get him back for his mysterious behavior, I raked the leaves in the front yard the other day while he was at work. You know, just to screw with his head.