“I wish my mom was here. I’m craving her lasagna,” I sighed.
Looking up from the video he was cackling over on the iPod, he said, “I could make you lasagna.”
“You could, except we have no noodles, pasta sauce or cheese. Besides, lasagna takes forever. It’d be like midnight before we ate.”
“I take it you’re not up for a romantic candlelit dinner…in bed?”
I just glared at him.
“Well, never fear. Lasagna you want, and lasagna you shall have. Now go upstairs and take a nap while I figure out dinner.”
I was just exhausted enough to do what I was told. And when I awoke, the unmistakable smell of garlic bread and lasagna wafted through the house. Rubbing my eyes, I stumbled downstairs, just in time to see him scraping food out of a takeout container.
“Ta da! I give you the Olive Garden’s finest. Garlic bread, salad, lasagna…even dessert!”
“You even got dessert? I knew I married you for a reason.”
We carried our Italian feast over to the couch, turned on season one of Better Off Ted, and dug in.
Three episodes later, I sighed contentedly. “You know what would make this even better?”
“That tiramisu you brought home…buried in a mound of whipped cream.”
“Doh! I didn’t get whipped cream. But…”
He scurried off to the kitchen, deep in thought. A few crashes of the cupboard and bangs of the refrigerator later, I peeked over the couch to see him pouring Tori’s whole milk in a steel bowl.
“What are you doing?”
“Making whipped cream.”
“But you need heavy cream for that, don’t you?”
“Nope.At least, I don’t think so…”
With that he turned the electric mixer on and began beating the milk to death. For a long time, nothing happened. Then it began to froth, and froth, and froth some more. Before long, we had an entire mixing bowl overflowing with faux whipped cream.
As my tiramisu disappeared under a massive mound of whipped cream, he said, “You know, there’s a lesson here.”
“Never doubt your husband.”
And you know what? For once, I couldn’t argue with him.