For my husband’s birthday I made his favorite dish: pasta Bolognese. In the three decades I’ve been making this meaty sauce, this was the first time the planets aligned in a harmonic convergence which culminated in one batch of unequivocal, undeniable—perfection. This accomplishment should fill me with pride—right?—but all I feel is doomed.
Category: Married Life
Trash Talk
At night while my husband sleeps, I slip out of bed and sneak into the kitchen. No, I’m not a secret eater out to nab an illicit brownie; it’s even worse—I’m a secret recycler.
Fur Play
I live with four men, a red tabby, a gray long hair, a brown Abyssinian, and a black and white short hair. This guarantees that no matter what I wear, cat hair will be the dominant color. Statement jewelry is so last year; at the House of Felis Domesticus, cat hair is the new must-have accessory. And it’s not a bad thing; it’s simply the price of feline fellowship, like finding a cat hair in your coffee. It’s amazing how one little cat hair in your mouth feels like the Trans-Atlantic cable.