Post Traumatic Chicken Syndrome

Last weekend went well. I expected to be nursing the Rascal through any illnesses he may have brought home from New Orleans. Instead, he took me to see The 40 Year Old Virgin and cooked for me- shrimp scampi from scratch. As a matter of fact, the Rascal cooks for me so much that a co-worker asked "How come you don't cook for that boy? You're always making him cook for you." To which I replied " I don't cook for him because I want him to continue being my boyfriend." It's not really a matter of whether or not I can cook. I can. But this past weekend I finally admitted to the Rascal that the only thing I can cook well is chicken. Which would not be that big of a deal except that the day after our first date he confessed to me that he HATES chicken. He has what I like to call- post traumatic chicken syndrome or PTCS. The story behind that is not mine to tell. The long and short of it is: the man does not even want chicken to be cooked in his house. And I completely respect that. So for 4 1/2 months I have avoided the subject all together. Not because I was being devious. I just needed time to decide if he was worth giving up my favorite food. (Southern Fried Chicken) Of course I have not actually fried my own chicken in years but I make a killer chicken & dumplings. Anyway, he really did not react as badly as I had expected. There was a speech on how genetically engineered food is bad for you. And blah, blah, blah you should not eat anything called foul fowl. Both reasons are completely valid although neither of them were the cause of his PTCS. After the speech, I promised that I would never, ever try to make him eat chicken. And that was the end of the conversation. I did not however promise to give up eating chicken. He is definitely worth it, but I'm hoping it won't come to that.