Disputed Space

Our marriage has survived some forty-seven years and even at times prospered, but during the dangerously unstable location of the Kitchen it has come closer to deletion than at any other time or place

Learning to cook and share the culinary chores took a while and whilst I remained a willing, obedient apprentice all went well.  Then I dared to seek equality, nae even assert my own ideas, layout, processes etc.  That was the beginning of the end as far as harmonious cuisine living went.  We have an ordinary square layout kitchen with a central island worksurface/storage area. That was the big mistake.  Even trying to invoke a one-way system of moving around failed. Disputed territory such as the kitchen sink, fridge, hotplate/oven became high-octane flashpoints triggering more rows that a late-night ACAS meeting or sensitive peace negotiations.  Like repelling magnets, we drove each other apart each demanding sole ownership of a tiny, but vital space.

Like all conciliation efforts barbed with impossible hurdles we found no answers, only antagonism and open hostilities.  How I have survived without injury or expulsion can only be down to the precious value of the implement she was holding at the time.  Disputes often simmered before finally boiling over into open warfare.  We would circle the centre isle like sumo wrestlers or judo combatants looking for an advantageous opening.

Then would come the post-mortem. ’ I would have used a higher heat, a different utensil…I could go on in ad-infinitum listing all the plays.  Like a game of grand master chess, the options seem endless.  So for the sake of love itself we operate as much as possible like the couple on the weathervane (one out, the other in or vice versa),  On those rare occasions when two sets of skills are essential, we move in and out of the kitchen like a fast-paced farce.

Incredibly that high-powered melting pot has remained localised and conflicts rarely spill over beyond the kitchen door.  Perhaps we’ve found a solution…cooking in splendid isolation.  Looks like I’m cooking the Christmas Dinner this year!