K is old.

My husband has officially reached a quarter of a century on this planet.  A QUARTER OF A CENTURY.  (Doesn't that make 25 sound much more substantial?)  Granted, 25 years is not really that old, but this is coming from someone who struggled to leave 21 behind, and is similarly depressed every October when I am forced to become a year older.

Yesterday was K's twenty-fifth birthday, and while the real celebration isn't until Saturday, we had a lovely, quiet evening at home to celebrate his old-ness.  Every year since I was little, my mom would let me have whatever I wanted for my birthday dinner.  When I was little the request was always chicken nuggets (and occasionally still is).  So, I told K I would make him ANYTHING he wanted.

I would live to regret those words.

Of course, he asked for steak.  For most people, cooking/grilling/whatever some steaks is no big deal.  Not the case for this girl.  I have only done it once before and it didn't turn out well (pardon the pun).  I also don't like steak, and therefore have no desire to learn how to cook it.  I'm basically not good at it and and have no desire to get better.  I feel the same way about fixing cars.

Well, I sucked it up anyway (because that is how much I love him) and went to the store in search of the perfect steaks, as well as potatoes (to become mashed potatoes), and a six-pack of K's favorite beer.  I then set out on an adventure to make my husband the perfect steak, mashed potatoes, peas, and salad for his birthday.  A birthday feast.

The result?  Utter failure.  I tried my best, I really did, but the peas were the only thing that turned out as planned.  The mashed potatoes were lumpy, although I blame this on the fact that I don't have a pot that is large enough to properly boil the potatoes, which is a necessary step.  I forgot about the salad altogether.  And the steak... that darn steak.  It tasted like nothing and was cooked enough to be more in the category of leather used for shoes.

But my dear husband... even before he took a bite he told me that everything looked delicious (yeah... just wait till you try it, I thought), and even though it tasted like, well, crap, he assured me that he was grateful.  He promised that he appreciated the effort I went through and that the fact I had tried my best was all that mattered.  He then, very politely and graciously, ate every bite and told me not to worry because everything was just how he liked it.  Both of us knew this was not true, but he knew I was feeling defeated, so I let him carry on with the compliments.  I couldn't force down more than two bites of that leather steak.

Even though K's birthday left me exhausted and on the verge of a meltdown, he still helped me with the dishes and promised to never ask me to make steak again.  At that moment, he couldn't have proven his love to me in a better way.

P.S.  Not everything was a lost cause... I did make some killer red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.  I burned half of the batch by accidentally setting the cupcake pan on a very hot burner after taking it out of the oven, but I learned that cupcakes whistle when they are burning (or maybe they were screaming at me to save them, but it was too late).