Some afternoons when I drive my car into the garage after taking my daughter to swimming, ballet or acting class, the last thing I want to do is cook.

Usually, boiling water seems like climbing Mount Everest. But since we’re not in the income bracket to afford a cook, or a Sherpa, or even delivery -- I fall back on takeout.

Takeout is to me what a housecleaner is to other, neater, more obsessive women: a luxury that keeps me from going insane. It has become a want that is now a need. It truly is a service that prevents me from appearing on "Snapped," the lovely TV show that “focuses on average women, who snap and kill or arrange for their husbands to be killed.”

But getting takeout isn’t as easy a decision as it seems. First, there’s the expense. Truly, it would make more sense to just boil water and throw some noodles in it. But, hey, often boiling water is just too much work. And a hit man or woman can be so expensive. But in family life there is no easy answer.

For you see, I have to decide what takeout to get, call and order, and then go get it. Sometimes this involves descending into negotiations between my daughter, my husband and me that would make an ambassador squirm.

For there isn’t one, all wonderful, all-knowing takeout place. Oh, no, in our family there are different types of takeout. There is takeout my daughter will eat, also known as fast food. This includes burritos.

Then there is adult takeout. That is takeout from my favorite Indian restaurant. It is takeout my daughter will eat, if I starve her a bit. It is takeout my husband and I love. Best of all, it is takeout that will last two days if I order extra. The only downside is the cost.

But as I remind my husband between bites of garlic naan, it’s cheaper than a divorce, or the alternative. And, as my daughter squirms, I remind her that if she just eats one more bite of chicken, I’ll get her the Pokemon cards she desires. See, I know how to keep my family happy.

By Georgie Craig

Labels: Georgie Craig

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