An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

The Loni Anderson Effect

So I’m on the phone with my father last night, and it is reiterated to me as it was throughout my childhood that the two most important things about a woman are her boobs and her cooking.

And so I turn to Jon, my darling husband, and I say, “It’s always the same with him, the boobs and the cooking, can you believe that?”

And Jon looks at me and says, “You know that’s crazy. There’s so much more to you than your boobs and your cooking.”

And I’m like, exactly!

And he says, “But, I really do like your boobs.”

And I say, “You really like my cooking too, right?”

And he says, “Of course. God, I love your cooking.”

And we both pause and think for a second, and then look at each other and say simultaneously, “Maybe it is about the boobs and the cooking.”

  • oh god. my therapist is going to be able to buy a goddam lexus off my restaurant fetish if this is true…

  • Jen

    Dad’s are smart. It’s all about the boobs and cooking with my dad too.

  • Cindy

    Oh no no no

  • If that’s all it is I’ll be married forever… I know one person who loves my healthy endowment of breasts and cooking skills. 🙂

  • boobs, cooking, and fart jokes too.

    jon is a lucky, lucky man.

  • I am also in luck if that is true, but I would agree that fart jokes should be added. Or at leasting farting.

  • Bam! That’s going to be my new show on the Food Network. Bam!

  • I neither cook nor do I have boobs (they’re Gwynethesque rather than Brittanyish)yet I’m married.

    My husband, however, is a fabulous cook and has a nice chest — so I guess ONE person in the relationship has to possess the boobage and the cooking skills or else it’ll all fall apart…

  • Desiree

    I love that simple archaic logic about sustenance (feeding your man & feeding your family). I think I am an average cook and I know I have nice but average breasts; my very cool and so far from being any kind of chauvenist husband also just confirmed that indeed it IS about boobs and cooking… not that either need to be spectacular or grand — it’s just enough that they “be”. 🙂

  • I can’t think of a single way to disprove that. I’m starting to think I’m a chauvinist.

    They should have a checkmark on the marriage license for that.

  • Hmmmmm. Well. I’ve got the great boobs, and my husband has the mad cooking skills, so when you put us together we have the boobs and the cooking. So maybe that’s how it works…if you don’t have the boobs, but you have the kitchen thing down, then you better pick a man with fabulous pectorals. eh?

  • Danika

    Well I don’t cook.. and my boobs are probably average… I guess I’m in trouble.

  • Who are we to argue with your father’s logic?

  • Caveman

    *gruntgrunt* boobs. food. boobs. food *grunt* football. food. boobs.

  • da

    it’s not just the boobs and the cooking, they have to be in the correct porportions. 90% cooking / 10% boobs probably wouldn’t cut it.

  • PJ

    Loni Anderson can cook?

  • clueless man

    Loni Anderson has boobs?

  • Titular Man

    I’ve got a vision:
    c(o)(o)king with d(o)(o)ce!

  • (o)(o)

    Fucking hilarious! (Who thinks of this shit???)

    As for me, I’ve got boobs and I know how to cook, so I guess I don’t need the relationship part. Ah, fuck. Who the hell am I kidding. Yes I do! (Why can’t we grow penises like we grow herbs? I’d fucking be set.)

  • “Who thinks of this shit???”

    The Japanese, they have keyboard equivalents for everything.


  • Tremorr

    In one of his essay collections, David Sedaris (of NPR fame) describes a hilarious prank his sister (the actress Amy Sedaris from Strangers with Candy) played on their father who was of a similar mindset. Unnaturally obsessed with his daughers’ looks, father Sedaris was shocked one xmas season when Amy shows up with a GARGANTUAN ass. Unknown to him, she was wearing half of a fat suit. Hilarity ensues.

  • Oh my god! I love that story. Here is the link for those who want to read it:

    If I were a gay man, my mission in life would be to make David Sedaris mine *sigh*

  • Tremorr

    Thanks for posting the link, Alex. David Sedaris rules, and his essay “A Plague of Tics” has made me much more tolerant of my marvelous-but-becoming-rather-peculiar 6 year old son.

  • i wish i had smaller boobs.
    and that i was a better cook.

    although my cooking is good enough that i eat too much of it – thus contributing (by means of all over layer of padding) to the size of my aforementioned boobs.


  • Irk

    Hey, if you got it flaunt it. Preferably, flaunt both at the same time.

    And while we’re talking David Sedaris, one of my faves is “The Rooster” in which the glory of the Fuck It Bucket is revealed. “Just say fuck it, motherfucker, and have a piece of candy.”

  • Kat

    I’m not much of a cook, and my boobs are small (but nice and perky!) I guess that’s why I hooked up with my girlfriend, she of the great rack and excellent cooking skills. It IS all about the boobs and the cooking.

  • i suppose i should just join the convent now, then.

  • Meesha

    Hmmmm….so that’s why, after I slave over a hot stove to cook a delicious and nutritious dinner, my husband “thanks” me by rubbing my boobs.

    It’s really enhanced my understanding of his behavior to know that he’s not the only one.

  • That would be *three* things, right? Boobs and cooking?

  • You know what, that makes a lot of sense. Since my boobs are 30% larger due to Depo, and I keep cooking in the communal kitchen…oh GOD! That’s why they’ve been hitting on me!

    I think I’m gonna go buy some more kitchen items and a boobs on display shirt. Right now.

  • (oYo) I love boobs. Real ones. I can cook for myself.

  • Titular Man

    Scott’s right.
    (oYo) are better than (o)(o)
    if you know what I mean…

  • cat

    the two most important things? or the two most appreciated?
    the difference could mean a still-satisfied husband figure, when after 25 years, your boobage is hanging low and arthritis attacks your fingers.
    let us not be defined by the ephemeral, girls!

  • I saw Loni once at a doctor’s office. She nearly ran me down in a hallway. On TV the boobs are fun, but they can also be used as weapons. As for “cooking,” I always thought that was a euphimism… my sinewy pan-flipping forearms notwithstanding…

  • Kristin

    I always thought if you had nice boobs, someone else would cook for you…that’s why I missed out on all those Italian mom-aunt-grandma sessions in the kitchen when I was little. 😉

  • Good gawd. Why am I picturing Robin Williams’ boobs catching fire over a hot stove?

  • Kristin

    Oops, that sounded like I was dissing my female family members…not so. I just meant I thought I was pretty set in the chest department!

  • If cooking and having boobs were all that mattered, Paul Prudhomme and Dom DeLuise would be everyone’s dream spouse. I think we’re overlooking brains and vaginas here. Not to mention beer, but real men can get their own damn beer.

  • what if the man is the cook….is it about the package and cooking?

  • I’ve rarely seen brains & vaginas on the same menu. Especially after guys have comsumed said beer.

  • your father may not be very wise but he has a point worth nothing.

  • Edsmonkey

    *wonders if anyone can cool with their boobs*

  • edsmonkey

    Er, cook I mean.

    Obviously I am typing with my boobs…..

  • edsmonkey can’t cook

  • Allright, allright already. I’ve got the boobs, I’ve got the cooking thing… shit, I’ve even got the flat stomach… where’s the man in this equation already??? Any takers?

  • Summer

    I guess I should also mention that fair’s fair and my guy should most definately NOT have boobs but it is ok if he can cook… there’s nothin’ sexier than that.

  • Tommy

    it’s ALL about the boobs and the cooking.

  • Nikki

    Damn, I have neither cooking skills or boobs. I’m screwed…

  • bucci

    dooce, did you go back and add nipple shadow to the gobs of gigs or am i seeing things?

  • My fiance’s boobs are like a dead heat in a zeppelin race. Which makes it hard for her to see what she is cooking. But the food still tasted great, she just gets to wear some of it as well.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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