I just got a snide message from a stranger who assumed that The Fella was sitting on his laurels while his poor downtrodden wife stayed barefoot and bandaged in the kitchen.

Listen, friends and complete strangers whose business this ABSOLUTELY IS WHY WOULDN’T IT BE: The Fella is more than pulling his weight during this time of minor inconvenience. He’s been cooking and grocery shopping and buying me nice prepared dinners to heat while he’s out at work, not to mention carrying anything that needs carrying, cleaning anything that needs cleaning, and opening every single jar and bottle, because I can’t.

So when I choose to create some great dishes requiring minimal effort and to make a congratulatory list of them for future reference and, yes, a little backpatting, please understand that it’s a ridiculously incomplete representation of everything we’ve eaten over the past two weeks (and counting). You’re only seeing the slice of our menus that seemed notable for being easy enough to create one-handed, not everything we made or bought or served.

I think the pertinent phrase is BITCH, YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE.