Mean salad

It was a frighteningly long day. I didn't have time to go home for dinner between work and French class, and barely had time to complete the homework assigned last week.

I trudged up the sidewalk and mentally considered the mountain of laundry in my room and the dining room table which needs a solid cleaning, and so it was in this frame of mind that I pushed open the front door and smelled dinner. Someone else's, of course. Tomato-based, I'd guess. Pasta, likely. And I thought, I need a wife.

You know what I mean! 

Someone to mind the laundry and bake lasagna - let's start with the spinach variety and a bubbly bechemel sauce - and change the kitty litter and take out the recycling. 

And pet the cat. He needs more company than any one able-bodied person could give him.

Then I realized - I have a weekend wife who pours me a glass of wine and composes a mean salad! 

A weekend without D's pasta is like a day without sunshine.

He does such a fabulous job I'm going to give him the weekend off.