The answer changes with my mood, but the outcome is always the same. I cook. All day long Mary would ask what she would make for dinner—before breakfast, during breakfast, after breakfast, during lunch, after lunch, during dinner, and after dinner. Mary: Honey, what am I going to make for dinner? Nicholas: Honey, we haven’t eaten breakfast yet. I have no idea. Mary: Well, when do you think we’ll know? Nicholas: Perhaps after lunch—is that okay? Mary: Yes, honey. [wait for it] What are we having for lunch? Mary: Honey, what am I going to make for dinner? Nicholas: Whatever you want to make. Mary: What do we have? Nicholas: Take a look. Mary (searching fridge): I don’t know what anything is. Can I make this? Nicholas: Yes, darling, but I don’t think—no matter how you prepare it—you will enjoy a box of baking soda.
