My beloved roommate, whom I love very much, and I switched presents on Friday before I flew home to visit my parents. She said "This is for you...and The Dude!" Now, that is very nice of her to think of The Dude. Of course, terrifying images of what this present could be flashed through my head, until I just opened it. It turned out to be....
A breakfast tray.
"So that you can bring The Dude breakfast in bed!"
Hmm. I Blame The Patriarchy.
Not that the The Dude, who is awesome and wonderful and happy-Belle making, doesn't deserve such, uh, servitude. He is very awesome, and I am not exactly contrarian with my "I am a feminist who cooks and bakes" schtick. It is often the case that I make dinners, picnic lunches, and all sorts of desserts for us, although I think he is the better cook, as he proved when he brought me a homemade feast during finals.
And I expect that it's so we can have it together, although crumbs on 400 count sheets from Crate and Barrel are not ideal. He laughed at the idea of me serving him breakfast in bed, which is the right response, even if I ever decide to do it. Which, I highly doubt I will. He may be awesome, and I may be a domestic diva, but I am entirely too full of sardonic irony and too much of a sarcastic bitch to do this.
I'm still very excited about my new tray table though. I can serve tea and biscotti at my all-girl tea parties! I can bring out a lot of stuff from the kitchen at once during dinner parties! This is a really great present. The Roomie didn't think of all these other applications, but they do exist.
Including my favorite:
Now, this would really get me going in the morning.
Recipe on Blondies to come on Monday, when I let the children get their grubby little hands into the dough to sprinkle the chocolate pieces.