Tonight I am cooking a romantic dinner for two that has absolutely nothing to do with my dog.
It’s not just dinner. It’s a romantic dinner. For two.
It has been approximately one year and two months since I last did that. In the meanwhile, I’ve cooked romantic dinners for friends, romantic dinners for families, and just plain dinners for two sans romance.
Tonight is romantic. And I’m cooking.
For those of you who don’t understand the significance of this, you must note that I was born with an over-developed nurturing bone. The easiest and clearest way I know how to demonstrate my affections is to care for someone. My favourite way to care for someone is to make sure they are well-fed.
This is not to say I haven’t cared for anyone in the last year and two months. I have. A few people, in fact. Something prevented me from laying it on. I cooked one or two intimate meals during that time, and realized almost as dinner hit the table that it was perhaps a bit hasty of me. In one instance, it was a simple “thank you”. I realized what cooking means. What it can represent, and so I’ve held on to that one, mostly. Until tonight.
From this you can conclude that I am lowering the drawbridge a little. Just a little. It feels like the thing to do, in a simple, easy way.
Dinner will be served at this so-called “Earth Hour” when we are asked to kill all the hydro. This will force us to eat by candle-light. I’ve always thought that the most important things are easier to see by candlelight.
So there it is. Dinner for two. At the Fortress of Solitude.
Hm.