The three words I hate most in the English language are, quite possibly, "what's for supper?"
A close second: Parent Participation Day!! at my daughters dance studio.
And also: "Look at Stephenie Meyer!" from well meaning family members. Okay, that's four words, but close enough. I don't begrudge her success or her book (I devoured Twilight and the whole series just like everyone else), but the point is not everyone will get famous from their book. Some of us will have our day jobs forever, or at least until we qualify for pension.
Which isn't a bad thing.
I get to jab people with needles all day at my job, and what could be better than that??
Anyways, as I was saying.
As soon as I get home from work I get swarmed by my family. "What's for supper?" they want to know.
I never know. Mentally I run through the contents of the fridge and cupboards, churning up unrelated items such as pickles and hamburger and flour and watermelon.
Is there a meal in there?
I didn't think so.
I ask Geoff for his input. He shrugs. "Whatever."
"Fine." I say, picking the easiest thing I can think of. "Pancakes."
"What? Pancakes, for supper?" Geoff asks.
OK, it is unorthodox, but come on. I've just worked for eight hours and I'm tired.
"Well, what do you want?"
He shrugs again. "I don't know. Anything. Whatever."
Second easiest thing I can pick.
"Tacos? Again?" my husband asks, disappointed.
When did I become the maker of the menu plans? I don't ever recall having an explicit conversation about this. But I guess it's probably just as well that I am, otherwise I fear we would be eating a lot of chili and stew- from a can.
And so, you tell me: what's for supper in your house?