I was reminded how great it is that my boyfriend is American. And a feminist.
Last weekend, I was home visiting my parents. My grandparents were in town from Florida, staying at my aunt & uncle’s house down the road. On Monday morning, my mom called my grandpa and asked him if he had eaten breakfast (it was 10 am), and he said no. So my mom hurried up and made breakfast, and made me drive it over to their house – because only my grandpa and uncle were home, and clearly two men were not capable of feeding themselves. Then on the way back from dropping off breakfast, I had to stop at the grocery store because my dad said that he wanted to eat spaghetti that day, so I bought stuff to make him spaghetti.
Brian was supposed to come pick me up that evening, and both of my parents separately asked me what I was going to have ready for Brian to eat when he gets there. My dad even suggested that I prepare a plate for him, with all of the vegetables cut up and laid out, so that when B gets there, I can stir fry it all up right away and it will be fresh – “just like at a restaurant.” Meanwhile, they are asking me this while I am making spaghetti, so they assume that he is too good to eat Dad’s leftover (by 2 hours) spaghetti?! I love him and all, but NO WAY.












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