This is a really fabulous take on consent and negotiation, from the pov of making pot roast.
Originally posted elsewhere, September 15, 2014
I looooove me some pot roast.
See, pot roast and I have a long and glorious history. I think we first became acquainted when I was four or five years old. Stringy, beefy goodness. Roundness of tiny potatoes. Transluscent slivers of onion. Savory, delicious sauce/gravy hybrid, with carrots peeking through.
I grew up eating pot roast, but usually only on special or semi-special occasions. Pot roast was for a Sunday dinner, or a family gathering. You didn’t just break that shit out on a random Thursday, you know.
No one ever taught me to cook. I went through the entirety of my relationship with my husband, from age 18 to age 25, not really knowing how to cook. If it involved anything more than browning some hamburger meat, over-boiling some noodles, and adding a can of orangey sauce from the…
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