Bridgette and I made our first dinner together last night.
No, it wasn’t what you probably think. It wasn’t a meal of frozen pizza, or eating tuna out of a tin with our fingers since all the silverware was dirty or anything like that. We made some delicious vegetable wraps, using a simple recipe shared by our domestically-inclined friend Arlene. It was nice to prepare a meal together, although the cramped confines of our kitchen made it somewhat problematic. I would guess that Timothy McVeigh spent his final tortured days in greater luxury than our tiny kitchen affords.
I decided to spice my wrap up with a little chicken, since my wife is apparently a vegetarian. The meal was delicious, with the peppers and onions perfectly flavoring the chunks of poultry-flesh. Bridgette was noticeably alarmed when I barked hoarsely in satisfied approval of her food-offerings. I tenderly explained to her that shouting in haggard tones and squeezing meat and overripe vegetables in my fists was merely my love language, and that I wished to receive affection from her in the same way. Having explained these things, I then proceeded to belch the periodic table of elements, much to her satisfaction.
Yeah, married life is pretty much like I pictured it.