I never imagined that planning a week’s menu—12 meals in total—would take a whole hour. 😦

Sometimes even longer.

I only do it because I don’t want to stand in front of the fridge wondering what to eat today, or come home from work, swing by the market, and still hem and haw over what to buy. Just the act of eating to fill my stomach eats up nearly an hour a day, on average, of dithering over choices. And then there’s that thought: everything sounds boring, like it’s just leftovers from yesterday, the day before, or the day before that. To top it off, I’m stuck with a husband who loves piling his plate high, so two dishes feel a bit skimpy to him.

Once, this wife sat across the dining table and asked her husband, “What do you want to eat tomorrow?” He blurted out the line everyone saw coming: “Whatever you cook, I’ll think it’s delicious.”

Swear to God, I wanted to jump across and sock him a few times right then.

Luckily, he’s willing to step into the kitchen and whip something up. And when he does, it’s usually a rainbow of colors. So it gets under my skin sometimes when he critiques my market haul, saying I didn’t pick out pretty enough ingredients. I let it slide—he’s in a line of work where he makes things look good for others, so naturally, he wants the food to be eye-catching too. More than a few meals end with our bowls and chopsticks in a mess.

Mostly for reasons beyond the food itself. 😀

But sitting down to map out a weekly menu made me realize something’s missing. Back when I’d shop, the goal was just a full stomach to keep going. Now, plotting out each dish for each day, I see we’re short on fruit, skimping on veggies, missing this and that. Good thing it’s just the two of us living together. Makes it easier to forgive, shrug things off, and dial back my own pickiness.

By the time I finish writing this, it’s noon, and I’m off to cook lunch. Half of Sunday’s already slipped away.