There’s nothing fishy about it… he’s a keeper

I don’t like salmon, and Bob only cooks it when I’m not home—usually when I’m away for a few days or so—so he doesn’t have to listen to my whining about how “the place smells like fish.”

But he had a hankering for some salmon patties today, and he cooked them in spite of my being here. When I didn’t smell anything after several minutes, I jokingly asked if he took our (over-the-stove, built-in) microwave out to the porch, to which he said, “Nope.”

I went outside to find it was actually the air fryer, and not on the porch, which is right outside our kitchen door, but out onto the deck and as far away from the house as possible.