I messed up dinner tonight. It was bound to happen, right? You can’t have a lifetime of making good-enough meals. I didn’t majorly mess up – it’s not like I burned down the apartment or anything. But the chicken wasn’t good. I even ruined the spanish rice by using the wrong tomatoes (and kind of burning it).
Maybe the world’s best wife would’ve made another meal from scratch.
Maybe a great woman would’ve had a back-up casserole in the freezer that she could’ve pulled out and into the oven.
So, what’d I do? I ordered pizza. I’m working on not putting too much pressure on myself to be perfect. Not everyday is perfect, but at least on this day, I have no regrets. At least, I had a homemade cake in the fridge that we had for dessert.