Throughout the journey of learning how to live in true partnership, you will inevitably face unexpected demons and obstacles, but also find equally surprising sources of joy and love. To help others along their path, I have decided to release a definitive account of the top five times my tall husband Joseph insisted on cooking beef.
Our wedding night.
It was not 24 hours since we’d been wed that the statuesque Joseph first vowed to cook beef immediately (and, suffice it to say, followed through on the plan). Once we returned home after the ceremony, he tore into the kitchen and began gathering all his little tools. You’d think the man was starved, but in fact we had salmon and chicken dinner options at the function. This was the first sign.
The day after our wedding.
Not one day later did the towering Joseph skulk back to the kitchen for more beef cooking. I asked him, “Joseph, why do you want to cook and eat beef two days in a row?” and he told me, “I like it and I’m good at it.” This was the second sign that he would be cooking beef.
The day after that.
They say sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, and it must be so, because as soon as the sun had set and rose once more, I found my sky-scraping husband marinating a slab of beef in our sink. “More beef, Joseph?” I cried, unable to meet his steely, unrepentant gaze due to our height disparity. Indeed, he was cooking beef.
Our daughter’s high school graduation.
Well time passed as it does. We moved to Southern California, I graduated law school, we had two kids. All of that went pretty fine. But Joseph’s old tricks still lived within him. It was Callie’s graduation day, and as I ran to the kitchen to ask Joseph if he had the keys, I saw him there: standing in his apron, a massive slab of beef before him. “NO, JOSEPH,” I moaned. “How many more cows will die for your insistence on cooking beef too frequently, and at importune times? Can’t this wait till after the ceremony?” In the seconds following the outburst, all I could hear was my heart beating. I expected rage; I expected swift retribution. But he only turned his head down 45 degrees so I could enter his field of vision, blinked, and said: “Well I’d really rather just make it now. I’ve got everything set up.” And that was when I knew for sure that he was cooking beef.
The community cookout.
This one was fine.
So those are pretty much five times my long-bodied husband, Joseph, insisted on cooking beef. Thank you.
