My focus from High School was to excel in my exams in order to have a meaningful career. My father was very supportive of this, and did his best to see I had everything I needed.
My mother insisted I learn to cook. Much to my dismay she stood over me while I cooked Sunday dinner, until she was satisfied that I could do it on my own.
Now, standing in my own kitchen, I was very glad for those Sunday lessons. I watched with pride as my brand new husband enjoyed a meal I had just cooked. He leaned back in his chair to unbutton his pants and the button came off in his hand.
"I guess you will have to sew it back on," he said, holding up the button.
"I can't sew," I replied.
"What do you mean you can't sew?" He said, throwing the button on the plate.
"Well I cannot sew. I can fuck and I can cook, do you expect me to sew too?"
"Yes," he answered.
"Well two out of three isn't bad, so deal with it," I said, throwing the dishes in the sink.