casseroles

It is practically scientific that when man divorces or is widowed, 5-6 casseroles a day appear on his doorstep and will grow exponentially to the point of near casserole traffic jam at his door until he finally chooses the best ‘dish’ or for the unimaginative primate, the closest dish, the warmest dish or the pushiest dish.

A newly separated or widowed woman was, 30 years ago, cast out socially, considered a threat and avoided like the plague. Today we continue to mystify, sometimes threaten and carry a burden of making all our own casseroles ourselves.

When we rendered ourselves “equal”, we forgot the casserole clause.

I can handle dinner but for bigger things I am turning to Santa-check out Santa, baby by clicking on this