There is something so silly about success. Not because it is difficult to achieve, but because when it finally arrives, it looks so ordinary. No one announces that you’ve crossed the finish line.
One day, you simply wake up living the life you once begged God for.
I find it endlessly amusing when men expect a level of domestic labour from me that I don't even do for myself. If I haven't built my own life around cooking every single day, what exactly makes you think you'll be the exception?