It's like you cook it, and four hours later, it's DONE

Every night Dave and I have the same "discussion." The dialogue doesn't change from night to night, with the exception of who "starts" it.

"What's for dinner?"

"I don't know. What do you feel like?"

"I don't know. What do you feel like?"

"I. Don't. KNOW. Just pick something."

"I don't know, what do we have?"

"Check."

"What? I don't care, just pick something."

We usually have this conversation while holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, you can bet.

Because Dave works second shift and I work first-ish, and because he cooks and I burn food, he ends up making dinner 99 percent of the time during his break. He doesn't mind; it's just that we never, ever know what we want to eat. Or we do, and it's not in the cupboard. Or we do, and it's expensive. Or we do, and it's at Fazolis.

Ah.

So for Valentine's Day, Dave got me a cookbook. Two, actually. One is a "real" cookbook; my mom has it and it looked safe and familiar.

But the other? It will save our marriage.

"Fix It and Forget It." Crock Pot recipes. It's like ... like a gift from heaven. I thumbed through the book and picked out recipes I might like (daring!) and he picks one he wants to make and when we get home from work, it's done. Like magic.

No conversations about "I'll say three things, you pick" or "You pick, but I have veto power." No "I don't knoooooooooow." Seriously. I think a small percentage of divorces could be avoided because of Crock Pots.

It's odd; we now may prefer the small appliance that cooks food in four or five hours, instead of our high-powered microwave. Figures.

We also like eight-tracks, telephony and car phones with spiral cords.