Some Tuesdays (Yes, I Know it's a Monday)

"I don't feel like cooking," I said to Tiffany last Tuesday night.

We had just walked in the door from work and were laying on our backs, feet-to-feet, in our hallway. Some Tuesdays are harder than others.

"Me neither," Tiffany said. "But I can do it. I'll make chicken."

Eventually, we managed to pick ourselves up off the floor and change into our pajamas.

In the kitchen, I kept Tiffany company and half-heartedly put away a few dishes while she cut the chicken up.

"Bring on the spices!" she cried, and I grabbed a few bottles. Garlic powder, oregano and pepper.

Tiffany sprinkled them generously and then turned to cut up some cauliflower. It was a very pale meal we were preparing. Her phone rang, and she went off to answer it and some e-mails for work. A few minutes later, when I had surrendered to the television, she put the chicken in the oven.

Later, I got up to take it out. I peeled the foil from the casserole dish and peered in. There was a little mountain of spices on the middle pieces. All the other chicken was naked.

"Babe," I called. "Did you mix the chicken and spices up?

Silence, then:

"Oops," she said, shuffling in to have a look. "Huh! I knew I forgot to do something!"

We burst out laughing, then did our best to salvage our meal by stirring the pieces all around and dumping them on a bed of lettuce with feta cheese and salsa. It was okay, but we had to make chocolate chip cookies later to compensate.

Like I said, some Tuesdays are harder than others.