My wife is trying to kill me

So in our house, there’s a pretty standard division of labor when it comes to dinner.

The wife does the cooking.

I do the dishes.

It makes sense: She’s a tremendous chef. I burn shit. She can cook anything. I wanted to create banana chicken. She fills the room with wonderful scents. I make the kitchen uninhabitable.

And yet … recently she’s been trying to kill me.

It starts like this—”Can you go to the supermarket and grab a few things?”

Then I go, “Sure.”

Then she goes, “It’s just a few things.”

Then I go, “OK.”

Then I get in the car and drive to the nearby Albertsons or Ralphs.

Then I see this …

Or this …

And this one all but killed me …

And here’s my belief—my honest-to-God belief: She’s testing me.

We’ve been married almost 20 years, and she’s still testing me.

We all know Hoisin sauce isn’t a real thing. We all know pickled ginger is mythical. There is no such thing as pork butt, and Hominy is … well, it’s bullshit. It’s all fucking bullshit. I roam these supermarket aisles for hours, a wayward soul seeking out fantastical minutia all so my wife and kids can laugh at me as they watch from afar on a secret camera.

Wait. I’ve gotta cut this short.

The wife needs a jar of crispy tarantulas.

1 thought on “My wife is trying to kill me”

  1. I gotta show this to my husband of 52.5 years. We have the same scenarios but the texts are instead phone calls. Phone calls to clarify. Sometimes he is outraged. My favorite quote: “There is NO SUCH THING AS ONION POWDER.”

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