I wanted somebody else to ask what was for dinner and then answer it themselves

Dear Delyara, There are days when the question “What’s for dinner?” feels harmless and days when it feels like someone pressing on a bruise. Yesterday was the second kind. Not because food is difficult. Because being the person expected to transform uncertainty into plan, ingredients into meal, hunger into order, every single evening, can start to feel like a very quiet kind of captivity. I know that sounds dramatic. It didn’t feel dramatic. It felt repetitive. I said, “I don’t know yet,” and went to the bathroom just to stand alone under the extractor fan for a minute.