REALITY?: For Women Only

So after J. comes home from work looking adorable as he shyly hands me my Friday night rose, he kisses me hello and sniffs the air. “What’s for supper?” he inquires. “Turkey Pot Pie,” I reply. It’s not near done, and I feel badly when I find him still sitting at the kitchen table, knife and fork in hand a half hour later. But soon we are both sated, him with dinner, me with knowledge. With an apple pie on Monday, a whole Turkey Wednesday night, and the pot pie just devoured, I know I’m not a failure as a woman.