Tonight for dinner, I made lime leaf sambal broiled salmon, roasted broccoli, heirloom carrots, and quinoa for the three of us. My friend supplied the broccoli; she’s offered to be our FreshDirect while she stays with us, which I’m happy to take advantage of. We sat in our lounge room and ate together, and while eating and relishing the food, she said that it suddenly dawned on her that she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her food before yesterday when she came over (aside from ordering at a restaurant, obviously).
“Was the last time someone made me food…. you? It was probably you!!” she exclaimed. She paused between bites. “It feels nice to be taken care of.”
I patted her back and glanced back at her contemplatively. She’s right. It is nice to feel like someone is taking care of you, whether that person is doing your laundry, getting your groceries, making you dinner, or doing all the repairs around the house that you hate doing. And it’s really sad when it feels like no one, even your own partner, has done anything even remotely to take care of you at all, and you’re the one who has done every imaginable form of “taking care of” him.