Pots, Pans, and Feminism

When I was a child, I refused to learn to cook.
Over and over again, family told me I needed to learn to cook for my potential husband's convenience. They asked me if I could be a good wife and serve fast food.
Over and over again, I told them I wouldn't need to cook because I would never have a husband, and I would hire a chef for myself.

Something changed this summer, and cooking turned into an outlet for my frustration, and the kitchen became my safe haven.

Perhaps I am finally comfortable with the idea that I won't ever have a husband.
But I can still cook for my own enjoyment.
And maybe I'll cook for a wife some day.