Cooking for one. . .or learning to cook together

I've lived with my boyfriend officially for three months, and unofficially for two years. By the time I moved out of the dorms into an apartment with a kitchen, Jeff and I were already serious and committed to eating together.

Meaning, I never had to cook for one. When he wasn't around for meals for whatever reason, I never found it worth my time to make a hearty meal just for myself and usually ended up with easy Mac or a concoction of whatever was in the fridge.

Not to mention I shared the kitchen with three other girls.

But since Jeff and I moved in together, sans roommates (except our beautiful guinea pig Penelope), we've made an effort to learn to cook real food for each other. We've made kugels, casseroles, gazpachos and more.

I've learned to put food in the oven without burning myself (he still has to take it out) and Jeff has learned that if he gets hungry at night and eats all of the soft tortillas while I'm sleeping, I get really, really mad.

But the point is, we've learned about cooking and food together. Sometimes he surprises me with cooking big meals while I lie on the couch watching TV, and sometimes I cook for him while he's reading to the guinea pig.

Jeff reading to the guinea pig (no, he's not a Republican)

I grew up afraid of the 50's housewife. I didn't want to become her so I rejected anything that was associated with her. As a teenager I refused to cook, clean or straighten my hair, and as a result, I kind of came out like a spoiled brat (except for the hair thing, I've since learned to tame my curls).

But there's nothing wrong with learning to take care of yourself. Now when Jeff's not around and I want a big meal, I make a big meal. For me.

And if you have a boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/whatever, you're not going to become that subservient woman as long as the taking care of each other is mutual.