Because of our wildly divergent schedules — not to mention total disagreement in what foods are considered palatable — hubs and I rarely eat together unless dining out. Instead, most evenings I eat like a single person, petting my cat and reading a book while slurping down far too many foods that emerged from a box just minutes before. Two hours later, I watch hubs prepare and eat his own meal.

Recently, however, I vowed that this would change. Not the schedule, perhaps, but the cuisine. After all, I’m on the road to good health and inner peace. My horoscope told me so, and the calendar backs it up. ((Speaking of resolutions, check to the right for the newest poll. A new one goes up every week.))

After a little thought, I had the perfect meal idea. Since everybody knows that breakfast foods taste best after 5 p.m., I cased the refrigerator and cupboards for supplies, and soon I was chopping, whisking, stirring, and simmering until I had a lovely breakfast burrito — double wrapped for structural integrity, since I lack the gene that tells me when my tortillas are too full to tuck into without tearing. Two bites in, I had sour cream all over my fingers, Basil the cat begging for attention on the stool beside mine, and an empty paper towel roll in front of me. But the burrito was delicious, so I had no cause for complaint.

An hour later my husband came home, inhaled the remnants of cooked eggs, chiles, and green and red peppers, and declared himself hungry for a breakfast burrito of his very own.

Halfway through teasing him about being a follower, the good news struck: We finally have another recipe we both enjoy. I think that makes four.