Detente and the Sunday Dinner

Readers cannot imagine the calm that was restored to our troubled family when the kids and I walked into our kitchen on the first Sunday morning of Détente and saw my wife sitting at the table, surrounded by cookbooks and making a shopping list.  It was never my intent that the Cube Steak War would come to a decisive end with clearly defined “winners” and “losers.”  It was always my dream that we would simply reach an understanding and, with that, “Détente.”  I smiled as I walked into the room, but quickly turned away lest she notice the shit-eating-grin of victory smeared across my face.  


“Are you going to add your items to the list?” she asked.  “Nah, I think I’m covered,” I answered back, knowing full-well that I would need to make a store-run eventually during the week when I ran out of canned vegetables and other side-dishes-in-a-box tucked neatly away in the pantry.  I retired to my recliner in the living room and busied myself watching the Cooking Channel’s  “Leftover Fantasies,” and “Meat on a Stick.”  


I heard my wife return from the grocery store and the Round Man’s Smoke House, and knew by the fact that it took her two trips to the car that Sunday Dinner and a stockpile of meaty leftovers were becoming a reality.  My heart actually fluttered a bit in anxious anticipation of what she would prepare.  Would it be succulent leg of lamb?  I could live with that.  My mental Leftover List began: gyros, Greek salad, a nice lamb stew.  Roasted cage-free chicken?  Even that would be acceptable.  


Ordinarily it was my job to unpack the bags and put away the groceries.  As I called to my wife that I was on my way, she responded by telling me to relax and check to make sure the kids were doing their homework.  “To the victor goes unanticipated spoils,” I thought smugly.  


The kids and I watched a movie and played some video games.  I could hear music playing and smell the aroma of bacon coming from the kitchen area.  I felt a tear form in my eye as I remembered earlier days.  


At five o’clock, my wife called from the kitchen, “Everybody wash their hands. Dinner will be on the table in five minutes.”  


We walked into the kitchen area, sat down at our places, and were each served a bowl of homemade tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.  Where was the meat? I needed meat!!! I did notice that my sandwich had two measly slices of Round Man’s smoked bacon in it.  “I don’t get it, Dad,” said our son as he dipped his sandwich into his tomato soup, “what’s the big deal in your family with Sunday Dinner?”  


Détente had been broken.  My Leftover List went up in smoke. I ate in silence and prepared myself for the Mother of all Wars.