MY FIANCÉ TOLD ME TO STAY IN THE KITCHEN SO I WOULDN’T EMBARRASS HIM IN FRONT OF HIS COLLEAGUES
Adam’s a pediatrician, and I’m a waitress putting myself through college. He’s always been a little dismissive about my job, but this took the cake.
One evening, we were at his place when the doorbell rang. “Oh, those are my colleagues,” he said, smirking. “Listen, Rachel, just hang out in the kitchen for a bit.
Maybe cook dinner for us or clean up? I don’t want you to feel out of place with these guys—they’re all doctors, and the conversation might be… TOO COMPLEX for you.”
I froze.”Are you serious?”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he replied and went to greet his colleagues.
Fine. He wanted me in the kitchen? I’d stay there — but not how he expected.
I smiled sweetly and turned on my heel, heading straight to the kitchen.
Oh, Adam. You have no idea who you’re messing with.
He wanted me to stay in my place?
Fine.
I got to work.
The Petty, Perfect Plan
While Adam entertained his fancy doctor friends in the living room, I made one hell of a meal.
- Lobster risotto
- Perfectly seared steaks
- A decadent chocolate soufflé
I plated everything like a five-star chef. Gorgeous, aromatic, mouthwatering.
Then?
I sat my happy little self at the kitchen island and ate ALONE.
Not just small bites. Oh no.
I took loud, exaggerated bites, moaning like I was having a five-star Michelin experience.
“Mmm! This is AMAZING. Best meal I’ve ever had! Wow, Rachel, you’re so talented!” I said dramatically to myself.
The scent of perfectly cooked steak and butter filled the air.
It only took five minutes before I heard footsteps.
One of his colleagues peeked in. “Uh… wow. That smells incredible. What’s going on in here?”
I smiled.
“Oh, just enjoying a meal I made. Adam thought I should stay in the kitchen, so I did!” I took another deliberate, exaggerated bite. “Did you guys want some?”
His colleague frowned. “Wait, he told you to stay in here?”
“Oh, yes,” I said cheerfully. “Apparently, doctor conversations are too complex for my little waitress brain.”
The guy’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. That’s… not cool.”
More of Adam’s colleagues wandered in, curious about the food. And one by one, they started sitting down.
Eating.
Talking.
Laughing with me.
Within fifteen minutes, Adam was the only one left in the living room.
When he finally came in, his jaw dropped.
His friends were all in my kitchen, complimenting my cooking, laughing with me.
I gave him the sweetest, pettiest smile.
“Oh, hey, babe! We were just chatting. It turns out, doctors can have conversations with waitresses after all.”
His face turned beet red.
His boss looked at him, unimpressed. “Adam, you told your fiancée to stay in the kitchen? Seriously?”
Another doctor snorted. “Man, I’d marry her for this steak alone.”
Laughter erupted.
Adam was humiliated.
And me?
I just took another deliberate, smug bite.
Because I had just served him the most satisfying dish of all—karma.
