*This is a work of nonfiction based on actual events I experienced firsthand; used with permission.
I remember when my boyfriend asked me to prepare him some of my homemade macaroni and cheese. He had been talking about how much he enjoyed it for a few days prior and I was happy to make some for him as a special treat.
When the dish was ready, I proudly presented it to him, expecting a warmth of appreciation in return. However, his face remained emotionless as he looked at the plate, and after barely taking two bites, he started complaining that the taste wasn't quite the same as what he expected. "It's not like the mac and cheese that comes in a box," he said with a frown on his face.
At first, I was taken aback by his words. Here I was making something from scratch with all my love and care, only to be told by him that it didn't measure up to what came out of the box.
Why then had he said he enjoyed my homemade mac and cheese when I'd given him a taste days earlier? And why had he specifically asked me to prepare a fresh batch of my special recipe just for him?
I asked him both of those questions, but he didn't give me a satisfactory answer.
"Just give me the one from the box," he said. He didn't even make an effort to eat the mac and cheese I'd prepared from scratch.
I'd paid an absurd amount of money for the ingredients. There were four kinds of cheese alone, and you know how expensive cheese is. Plus, I bought good pasta, not the cheap kind that gets gummy and sticks together when you boil it.
That was the last meal I ever prepared for him. In total, over the course of eight years, I cooked for him twice. I had the same experience with him the first time I cooked him dinner: nothing but complaints.
After giving it further thought, I realized why this might have happened. My boyfriend was someone who had grown accustomed to eating store-bought mac and cheese his entire life; so expecting something different entirely took some getting used to for him.
My realization didn't change my mind about cooking for him again though. There was no need for it.
We didn't live together. We both lived at home with our respective parents. We each had similar incomes. I wasn't auditioning for a wife role. I don't necessarily believe cooking is the woman's role anyhow.
There simply wasn't any reason to cook for someone who couldn't muster up an ounce of gratitude or appreciation for anything I did, not just cooking.
What would you have done? Comments are welcome.
Why would you want to Buy Me a Coffee? I am a full-time writer and a full-time unpaid caregiver to my 82-year-old father, who lives with Parkinson's. Your tip or donation allows me to provide for his care and comfort around the clock while working from home. Thank you.
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