Ari made a face. That’s not good, is it? Should he be speaking up? Or are we so mature that he gets this disagreement is not worth it 

Make to-do list.

That was the first thing on my list, oldest accomplishment hack in the book.

Next: Get to work early and impress boss, I underscored that. What else?

“Make supper,” I said aloud. I always forget supper; it’s still not on my to-do radar.

“The real question is — will you be home at a time that normal people eat supper?” Ari said.

Right, that’s why I forget supper, because I don’t usually eat it. We’re married two months already, I have to get into this supper thing.

“Yes,” I said, “but the gemach is open tonight.”

Ari made a face. That’s not good, is it? Should he be speaking up? Or are we so mature that he gets this disagreement is not worth it….

I add to my list:  Evaluate relationship - 5 minutes

Research says it’s good to be meta about your life.

Ari switched gears. “What’s for supper?”

Mental freeze. What was I making for supper? Food shopping was on my list, but that was mostly to stock up on Tradition soup and granola bars. I suddenly remembered that over Shabbos I noticed a recipe for meat pizza tacked on to Ma’s fridge.

“Homemade Meat Pizza,” I said.

“Really?” Ari said. Why did he sound surprised? How hard could a one-column recipe be?

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” I sounded nonchalant, but started wondering if I got myself into more than I’d bargained for.

“Right, why not? Sounds delicious.” He checked his watch. “Shacharis calls, see you soon.”

I smiled and waved goodbye earnestly. Part of me feels like a giggly 18-year-old girl when we part. It embarrasses me, but I really like Ari, and don’t like when he leaves. It’s an odd new feeling that I have a love/hate relationship with. See, I’m so introspective courtesy of my five meta minutes last week.

Must leave to shop and work, but first I flicked open the browser on my phone and typed in homemade meat pizza. I clicked on the first search results. Ah, that’s why Ari made a face. It’s a yeast dough, it has to rise, take time, and my track record of coming home before eight is a little shoddy.

I chewed on a cuticle. What to do? There was no way I had time for this. I dialed Abby on my way out.

“Hello,” she answered curtly.

“It’s me, you can smile now,” I said.

“It’s seven in the morning. You don’t have kids. Why are you up?”

“Early bird catches the worm.  I’ve been up since five thirty.”

She snorted. “Never mind me, what’s up?”

“I told Ari I’d make homemade pizza for supper, but I just googled a recipe, and I don’t have time to make it. What should I do?” I entered the corner grocery and gave a smile and wave to the owner who was sitting behind the register.

It was Abby’s turn to laugh, her dark, dry chuckle.

“First, I don’t know what possessed you to say that in the first place. But you can always say, honey, I realized it’s not gonna work out, let’s order pizza instead.”

“I’m not doing it. I’m married two months, I still have to be impressive.” I rushed through the aisles, focused only on my list.

“Give it up Shifra, you’re 32, way past the four-course shanah rishonah meals. Ari does not need this show, and you don’t have time for it.”