Dennis had been dating Julia for eight months. It was a wonderful time from start to finish – they had many dates and even a trip abroad together, and his family kept hinting to Dennis that it was time to make more serious steps. He was thinking about proposing himself, but he wanted to live with Julia for a while first. She explicitly agreed to his proposal. They had both lived in rented apartments before, and it was much cheaper and more comfortable to live together.
On the first day after moving in, Julia decided to have a romantic dinner for them. Dennis had just come back from work and was very excited. Julia had never cooked for him before. He thought that his girlfriend was a chef with three Michelin stars (after all, his mother always cooked wonderfully), and he hurried home. He arrived earlier than he had expected and than Julia had expected. She set the table in the living room, and he ducked straight into the kitchen and stared in astonishment at the pan of fried semolina and sausages.
“Is this going to be a romantic dinner?” – he thought in horror.
Julia was no doubt a housewife, all her friends said the girl couldn’t be any different, but doubts began to take Dennis. What if she could not cook at all? Would he have to cook for them alone? Did he need such a girl?
– Sorry, I came home from work terribly hungry and wanted to eat before dinner, – Julia excused herself, blushing, – I was afraid that you would look at me weird if I jumped on the chicken like a madwoman.
While Dennis was wondering what kind of chicken he was talking about, the girl took him by the hand and led him into the living room, where a rich table was laid out, just like on New Year’s Eve: salads, cold cuts, chicken and creamy mashed potatoes. There was also a bottle of red wine and candles.
– Your cooking is divine! – Dennis said all night long. – I love you!
And he scolded himself for allowing the idea that Julia could be loved less if she suddenly didn’t know what a “romantic dinner” involved.
