**Why Simon No Longer Tells His Wife What He Wants for Dinner**
Why dont you ask what I want for dinner anymore? Simon asked his wife as he left for work. Or does it not matter now?
I thought Id make whatever I fancied, Emily replied indifferently. But if you insist, I can make something specific.
Thats not the point, Simon said. Its not about what you *think* I want. The fact you dont even askis it really so hard? Dont you care?
Honestly? No, Emily admitted. Not a bit. Whats so interesting about it?
Oh, really? Simon scoffed. How times change. You used to ask. So I suppose it *was* interesting back then.
Emily paused.
*Hmm*, she thought. *Hes right. I did ask before. Awkward. Better humour him, or hell never let it go.*
What *do* you want for dinner, then? she asked.
Simon smirked.
*Doing me a favour now, is she? Fine. I wont be petty. Marriage is about compromise. Ill be the bigger manno need to make a fuss.*
Alright, he said magnanimously. Shepherds pie.
What kind? Emily pressed. Lamb or beef? Or I could make fish pie?
Anything but fish! Simon groaned. Are you joking? You know Ive hated fish pie since school.
*Oh, brilliant*, Emily thought. *Why did I say that? Hes told me a hundred times about those dreadful fish pies in the canteen. Now hell go on about it all day. Or worseall week. Must remember he hates rice pudding too.*
What about sides? she asked quickly. Mashed potatoes, peas, or carrots?
Roast potatoes, Simon said. Crispy, not soggy.
Of course, darling, Emily said. Crispy it is.
Not that Im worried, Simon added smugly. Youre the one who should be.
*Why did I say that?* he immediately regretted. *Trying to prove a point? Rude for no reason. Still a long way to go before Im a truly decent man.*
If its not too much trouble, love, he added softly, a salad with tomatoes and cucumber, please.
Of course, darling.
With garlic and parsley.
Garlic and parsley, Emily repeated, smiling.
And a dollop of mayo.
Mayo.
And roast the potatoes with onions too, Simon added.
Everything just as you like, dear.
Simon kissed her goodbye and left, but all day, unease gnawed at him. Something felt off with Emily. He couldnt place it. At work, he was distracted, replaying their conversation.
*Ill talk to her properly tonight*, he resolved. *Maybe Ive upset her without realising. Best sort it out before it festers.*
That evening, Simon pushed his shepherds pie around his plate, watching Emily devour roast chicken with gusto. She drenched it in gravy, grinning as she took big, satisfied bites.
Hang on, Simon said. Why are you eating chicken? I thought we were both having shepherds pie.
Fancied chicken instead, Emily said between mouthfuls. When you asked, I realised I didnt fancy pie. But dont worryyours is perfect. All for you!
*You thought Id eat your dreary pie?* Emily mused. *Why on earth?*
Sorry, she said, chewing. But isnt this better? You eat what you like, I eat what I like. Perfect, right?
Charming, Simon muttered. Can I have some chicken? It looks good.
No, Emily said. Made just enough for me. But enjoy your pie! And the salad. And all those lovely roast potatoes.
But youve got a whole drumstick left, Simon protested. Ill share my pie.
Mine, Emily said firmly. Made two for myself. Dont want pie. Eat up!
Simon forced down his meal, watching enviously as Emily crunched into the crispy chicken skin. His pie turned to sawdust in his mouth.
Made it extra crispy, Emily said. Absolutely divine. Wish you could taste it.
I bet, Simon sighed, finishing his last forkful with a hollow smile.
The next morning, Emily smiled sweetly. What would you like for dinner, darling?
Roast chicken, Simon said flatly. Dreamt about the blasted thing all night. Make it just like yours. No sidesjust gravy.
Of course, dear.
That evening, Simon picked at his chicken without appetite. Because across the table, Emily was gleefully tucking into lamb stew.
So good when its hot, she said. Could eat this forever. Always loved it, ever since I was little.
All week, Simon endured Emilys culinary theatrics. The final straw came when she fried up whitebait, crunching happily while he stared at his pork chops.
I want whitebait too, he whined.
You shouldve said this morning! Emily said. I made these chops just for you.
How was I supposed to know?
Didnt know myself till I fancied it, she shrugged.
Just give me a little.
Not a chance, Emily said sternly. What would I eat? Your chops? No thanks.
The next morning, when she asked about dinner, Simon shook his head.
No more games, he said. Youve had your fun. Whatever you make for yourself, make double. Thats it.
From that day on, Simon never told Emily what he wanted for dinner again.
*Sometimes, insisting on fairness means both must share the same plateor neither gets a bite.*
