Ahhhhh....unlawfully unwedded bliss.
If there's one thing that Paul knows, it's my faults. [Not that there's a lot of them or anything]. He accepts the fact that I. Don't. Cook. At least not well enough to be called food, or resemble anything edible, not to mention the probability of dysentery.
Needless to say Paul's been doing all the cooking since we moved in together. And I'm rather enjoying it. It's much like being waited on in a restaurant (without the pricey bill and I get to pinch the chef's butt without being thrown out). Pastas, curry dishes, stuffed chicken...yummy yum!
In fact, Paul's cooking is sooooo good, I've gained 15 pounds. Much like the freshman who goes off to college and is introduced to campus caf food. But without all the beer bonging.
Yes, part of me misses cooking my piece de la resistence...grilled cheese sandwiches. And yet another bigger part of me [literally] misses being able to fit into my clothes.
Ahhhhh...the price of love.
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