I’VE LEARNED NOT TO MENTION them in social settings. “You don’t do that for me,” a woman says to her suddenly defensive husband. “I wish someone would make mine,” remarks another woman, as her partner glares at me. “Boy, you must worship your wife,” a man suggests, as if that’s a crime. These folks assume that pure, unselfish love is why I pack my wife’s lunch nearly every working day. And they’re wrong.

I started preparing her lunches for as unromantic a reason as there is: I’m cheap. I noticed my wife was buying her midday meal, and at around six bucks a pop, this added up to serious cash. As the cook in our home, I knew I could feed her just as well and for a fraction of the cost. Fifteen years and 3,000 lunches later, just thinking about the savings makes me smile.