I have a friend in Botswana named Mma Ramotswe. Fifteen years ago Alexander McCall Smith introduced us and we became immediate friends. Over tea--she prefers red bush tea to my English breakfast--she's shown me how to handle delicate situations. She visited me while I was stuck in the hospital, and even there she kept me chuckling.
On one visit "it was time for a further cup of tea and the conversation shifted to the subject of husbands, on which [we] both declared [ourselves] to be most fortunate."
In the most current book, The Minor Adjustment Beauty Salon an acquaintance told her about a local course for the Modern Husband. "'It is very good. I hear they teach men how to cook, or at least to think about cooking.'
Mma Ramotswe's attention was immediately engaged."
Mine, too. My husband is quite modern. He cleans. He does all of the grocery shopping. In a pinch he does laundry. And after years of negotiating, he cooks.
I recently walked into the kitchen in the middle of his dinner preparations. Every cupboard door he opened stayed open. The drawers waited for the utensils and spices to go back into their places. Eight linear feet of counter were covered with ingredients.
If she had seen it, I can imagine my friend would have said, "Mma Glover, if he chops, mixes, and cooks, he is a thoroughly modern man. Surely you can close the cupboards."
As usual, you're right, Mma Ramotswe.