Better Late Than Never: A Lesson in Learning to Speak Up.

My boyfriend is a people pleaser.
As someone who is often the cause of shocked laughter at my frankness and honesty, this is incredibly weird yet balancing. However, when I ask someone what they think of my food, or my clothes, or my anything, I expect an honest (perhaps tactful) answer. If its “this isn’t great.” I’ll do what I can do improve, or let it go and accept that its not my time. If you tell me “Its fine.” I’m going to assume its fine and I’ll continue whatever it was.

I like sweet potatoes. They are my thing, my grandma makes them special for me no matter what the main course is (Spaghetti with a side of sweet potatoes is a known thing at her house if I’m there…), and I understand that some people dislike them. I’m also not a great cook but for the record, I don’t exactly have the greatest ingredients or utilities here. One thing I can cook is yams or sweet potatoes and I’m perfectly happy to make myself a dinner of yams with sometimes a side of something and sometimes nothing. One day I called my boyfriend who was coming over for dinner and asked him if he likes sweet potatoes.
He replied, “They’re okay I guess. I don’t mind them.” So I’ve been making sweet potatoes pretty much every time he comes over because they are easy and delicious. I also knew deep down inside that he actually doesn’t like them or he doesn’t like the way I prepare them but he wouldn’t tell me.

Last night, I made sweet potatoes… (I don’t really have anything else in my house), so I decided to make them fun with lemon pepper seasoning. I tried them; I liked them. But I knew it wasn’t a combination of flavours that was going to make my guest overjoyed. Sure enough, he tried them; he politely said he wasn’t hungry. After humming and hawing, I put everything away and we walked 10 blocks to Safeway for a lumberjack sandwich. On this walk I finally found the truth when he said ,”Sweet potatoes are okay but more at thanksgiving when they are mashed and covered in turkey and gravy.” Tell me that 3 months ago, why don’t you?

People, girls and boys, ladies and gentlemen, if you tell someone that you like a meal just to save their feelings, thats okay. IF you are only eating at their table the one time. If you know this person is going to be cooking for you for a while, a little bit of honesty in what you do and don’t like on your plate really isn’t gonna make them fall over and collapse from a broken heart. From now on, the boyfriend will only see sweet potatoes mashed, and probably more often than not, in october.
I’m still alive. Woah. Phenomenal.
I’ll learn to cook new things. I’m good at pizza and chilli that will burn your internal organs. I can cook potatoes if you like them el dante, and I make a mean poor-mans-lasagna/ mac-and-cheese. Also, chunky’s soups are feasible. If you’re ever coming over for dinner at my place, tell me what you don’t like. I’m a server. Trust me, I’m incredibly used to modifying dishes around peoples “Allergies”.

The only person you’re hurting when you don’t tell me you aren’t a fan of sweet potatoes is yourself. Speak up.

All my passive aggressive love from afar,

P.S. This time it only took 3 months for him to tell me how he truly felt. It took a year and a half of me buying larges of every snack and sharing at the theatre before he told me he really doesn’t like to share popcorn. We’re making progress.

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