Apparently it is a compliment for him to tell me I am an “extremely proficient” cook. Am I asking too much to want to be something more than just proficient? Maybe I am being too sensitive to word choice here.

I cooked dinner tonight. This is nothing particularly special as I have cooked for myself pretty much every night since my junior year of college. Tonight was also nothing big- just whole wheat pasta with roasted tomatos, spinach and white beans. But the boyfriend RAVED about it which was very sweet.

And then he said, “you know, you’re almost as good of a cook as my sister.”


“Well, of course you’re not as good a cook as my sister. She does have a cookbook.”

And you, dear readers, know how I feel about that. You will be glad to know that I bit my tongue and didn’t say anything mean beyond that it would be nice if he didn’t compare us. But I am not particularly happy right now either.

I’m typing up some recipes for my mom to add to our little collection of favorite family recipes. This is a slightly time consuming project because my mom’s handwriting is miniscule and therefore often requires some interpreting.

That said, I’m massively annoyed with myself because I have a stack of recipes that I wanted to put into the computer, but was too lazy to actually type up. Now, of course, would be the perfect time to do so. Would you like to take a guess at where they might be though?

In my file cabinet in the “To Do” folder? Of course not! That would have been too sensible.

In a box in the warehouse with the majority of my other belongs? No, even that would have been too easy.

They are, instead, in a box in the boyfriend’s parents’ basement. On Long Island.

Which is, of course, AWESOME. Sigh.