Bitter Resentment Bit Me in the Butt

I was stewing one recent evening while preparing dinner… I was simmering up a hefty dose of self pity and this unhealthy concoction of perceived misfortune was reaching its boiling point.

I don’t like to cook. I want to like it but I really just prefer to eat the food, not prepare it.

While my chicken burned I opened the fridge to find my broccoli was no longer in a state to be considered a healthy vegetable side dish. Left with a meal my family would surely snub their noses at, my distaste for cooking became a raging battle of sympathy for my relentless recent efforts to have a suitable meal on the table when the family came through the door with their ravenous appetites.

I will readily admit that the desire to cook and the skills to produce any sort of delectable varieties for family dinners is entirely missing from my inherent composition. But my worthy efforts remain commonly unrecognized by my dinner critiques.

My resentment for this dinner chore (spurred from a disastrous meal and vocal complaints from the dinner patrons) became evident to all as I complained about all the food I had prepared lately, blaming Roger for sloughing off dinner duties that inevitably fell on my (incapable) hands.

Roger begged to differ and insisted we base my grievances on facts. He concocted a dinner chart and promptly rushed home from work each evening to have dinner on the table and ceremoniously place a tally under his name on the dinner chart.

You would think I would be happy – I’m no longer cooking dinner (although I still adamantly believe that throwing a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner does NOT constitute a tally on the dinner chart).

Over the weekend we found ourselves mischievously microwaving prepared meals for the children ensuring one more tally on the dinner chart.

As Roger prematurely celebrated in his perceived win in this battle my resentment over dinner duties began to take some focus. I knew Roger’s efforts were in jest. We both knew he could not keep up his masquerade of family chef forever. And I realized that I didn’t actually need him to share the dinner burden equally. I simply wanted to be appreciated for my persistent efforts despite the often dreadful outcome.

Resentment clouded my true feelings, spawned debilitating anger and fueled my reaction to blame, spinning others into actions that produced undesired results. Bitter resentment bit me in the butt as I watched Roger’s dinner tallies significantly outnumber my marks.

But with the dinner battle behind us and a dinner chart concocted out of jesting rivalry we can now laugh at my foolishness and focus on appreciating those efforts by all that bring us together at the dinner table each night to dine on an arguably tolerable meal.