When I first started working in commercial kitchens, something I never did prior to going to college, my first job as a prep cook was strange. My supervisor/head cook and I handled the entire menu for a very busy pizzeria in a small touristown. I'm not really tall so for some tasks I had to stand on a milk crate to reach the top of the equipment, I also suffered a couple weeks of knife nicks on all fingers. One day the head cook was on some tear about I don't know what but he felt he had to insult and rant at me while I was standing on the crate with a BIG knife in my hand.

At that moment he, a not very bright individual who felt threatened by me for some reason, let out a nasty insult about my intelligence and education (I had those he didn't) while standing right next to me. I just looked down at him with "the look", then down at the giant knife in my hand, then back at him. His eyes followed mine to the knife, then back up to meet mine. At that point, his eyes got real wide and he was across the room and around the corner in a flash. When I finished my task I walked out. Found another job five minutes after I walked into the bar where most jobs were to be found.

Is wherever the hell she wants it to be

Thanks for the thread Duncanpup.

… “I am not a witch.” Someone here explained The Voice, having experienced it first-hand — hyper-religious Christians train it into their girls.

my husband came in through the door and asked what's for dinner. I said, "frozen pizza, Nate's teething and Viv's driving me nuts".

He gave me a look and with a snotty attitude said, "fine I'll go get something".

He left and got HIMSELF McDonald's, but they got his order wrong and there was what looked like mouse poop in the bag.

I did not cook him dinner for two years after that. He never acted like that again.

Women are not keepers of the kitchen, and not only knives live there, but the appliances are useless if not used.

After taking care of young children all day I agree i always would tell Liz go lay down I got kids covered go rest.

You must have had good teachers.

She did tell me that he figured she was cured if the hospital discharged her (surgery, childbirth, whatever) and that on the drive home he could be counted on to ask, “What’s for dinner? “

Your story resonates like hell.

There are still men who believe that when they come home from work, the little woman should do everything for him, fetch his slippers, give him the remote, fetch him a beer.
And then disappear singing happily into the room with the sharp knives to cook his dinner.

Stereotypes like that don't exist anymore, if they ever did.

I learnt a long time ago that coming in grumpy from work and say 'what is for dinner' is usually the prelude to WW3 on a small scale.