Dinner. You used to know when it was coming.

You used to even know what it was too. You’d smell it cooking and think, “oh, that’s tuna casserole,” or “oh, that’s penne a la vodka.” But that’s all changed now. Now, you never know when or what dinner is until it’s right there, breathing down your neck.

And it’s all your fault.

You thought, “he really likes to cook. Maybe I should buy him that Fissler C&S Royal 7-Piece Cookware Set.” So you bought him the Stewpot set. You thought, “with its elegant design and drip-less pouring, he’ll be sure to use them all the time.” And you were right, he loved them all! So much, in fact, that you bought him the casserole set the next day.

Then that night he said, “Dinner’s ready!” And it caught you entirely off guard. You had no warning, no lingering smell, no odor of what was to come. Maybe you were getting a cold? That must’ve been it, right? Wrong. Because at the dinner table his beef stew was as pungent as ever.

“I had no idea you’d even started cooking,” you said.

“Oh, well, you know, these heat-resistant Fisslers all have high quality glass lids that close the pot particularly efficiently, keeping the aroma in,” he replied.

It seemed innocent enough at first. But then, later, it hit you: you’d never expect dinner again. Every night would be scent-less. With its cool-to-the-touch stainless steel handles, he’d never don his oven mitts again, and then walk around the house absent-mindedly with them on.

No. There’d be no warning. The lid would come off, and he’d say, “dinner’s ready.” Every night it would creep up on you. No time after six would ever be safe again.

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