The Way To A Man's Heart

Everyone knows it’s via his stomach... So, what if you can’t cook?

- Linda Lewis

Have you thought about Christmas dinner yet?’ my mother asked me. ‘You know what they say – the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’

Until Tim came along, none of my boyfriends had lasted very long. Dad said it was because I’m not house-trained. Things most women find easy, like sewing on a button or ironing, I’m hopeless at. I’d be looking forward to our first Christmas if I wasn’t such a terrible cook.

We met at a New Year’s Eve party. My usual type is tall, dark and handsome. Tim’s my height, five foot nine, with hair the colour of new-mown hay. I only noticed him when we played charades. He was so funny, my ribs ached from laughing. When he asked me out, his voice a perfect imitation of Shrek, I couldn’t say no. It was the best decision I’ve ever made.

I thought we’d be spending Christmas with my parents, but when my dad turned 60, they announced they were going to Spain.

‘A second honeymoon,’ Dad said, his eyes twinkling.

My parents can’t walk past each other without cuddling. I complained about it, often, but secretly I envied them.

‘Are you still there? Mum said.

‘Yes. What am I going to do? Tim doesn’t know I can’t cook.’

‘Not a problem,’ she replied. ‘I’ll come over on Saturday and show you how.’

After two weekends, and three ruined turkey crowns, Mum admitted defeat. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I have an idea.’