I hate beer. Hubby hates soup.
The excerpt above tells me that while there is a lot of love in the author’s relationship, it did not come from the food his wife serves. I got through the whole thing without one flutter of desire for anything going on there. Rye bread and thin sliced roast beef? Yuck. Campbells soup with cream? Spare me.
The moral is that once a fellow can accept her poor offerings and learn to love them . . . and her, happiness ensues. But, I’d rather eat at McD’s than their place.
DH Doesn’t do soup (maybe chicken noodle), we’re mild on sandwiches, and neither of us cares about any alcohol.