when_the_shoe's_on_the_other_foot tender_square there was a series of scoffs as he stood at the stove top, monitoring three burners. “was there something wrong with the center element?” “no, i just thought the other burner worked better is all.” she had inadvertently made it difficult for him to stir the small pot of simmering lentils, because a stockpot of potatoes were boiling in front of it, its steam billowing to burn. she didn’t know what the problem was. he had left her to put away the groceries herself, returning to store to get a fresher onion than what they’d been given. she began preparing dinner in his absence, locating ingredients and cookware. “i can take care of those if you want,” she offered. he either didn’t hear her or ignored her. she continued to clean the kitchen, and chop red pepper that was missing in her salad for lunch the following day while the cutting board was out. minutes later, when the onions and carrots had finished their sauté, he posed another pointed question. “why did you use this pan instead of the glass one?” “this was has a lid and since we’re not eating it until tomorrow, i figured it was better. we’ve used it before, haven’t we?” “no. it’s too big; the pieces are going to be thinner than they usually are.” he scoffed and scooped the contents out, patted it flat. “see?” she was calm, accommodating. “if you want me to switch it over to the other container, i can.” she had removed her rings and was separating yolks from chalazae, using her fingers as a strainer over the sink. “never mind. it’s too late now,” he huffed. “why don’t you let me take care of the rest and you can go lay down?” this was her go-to strategy whenever she brushed up against his threadbare patience. he left for several minutes, then returned to prop his elbows against the counter and brood. “did i do something to you?” she asked. the role-reversal was unusual. “it’s the lentils, it’s the pan.” he pointed to a container on the countertop. “it’s the blueberries—why would you leave those out?” his ritual was to wash them in their plastic crate and save them in the freezer after they were unpacked from the grocery bags. “i figured you would take care of it; they’re your blueberries. i don’t know what you do with them.” it wasn’t like she had been standing around idly. she had been working since he left; straining potatoes, whipping them with butter and parmesan cheese and almond milk, spooning them onto the shepherd’s pie. “you don’t know what i do with them?” he was incredulous. when she finished with the potatoes, she ran the blueberries under cool water, shook out the loose droplets, deposited them into the cool mouth of the freezer. “i thought you said you didn’t know what i do with them,” he said. 220710 what's it to you? who go blather from