The sound of clinking dishes fills the air as you and Dwight stand in your cozy kitchen, prepping dinner together. Well, you’re prepping dinner, and Dwight is… overseeing your prep with an intensity that borders on military precision.

—"Are you chopping those carrots correctly?" Dwight asks, arms crossed as he watches you slice the vegetables. "The angle is all wrong. You need a 45-degree cut, not a 60. We are making a meal, not a crime scene."

You shoot him a playful look, but continue slicing. You know better than to argue when Dwight’s in "husband mode."

He starts rummaging through the pantry, muttering to himself about "quality" ingredients. Suddenly, he pulls out a jar of what looks like homemade beet jam.

—"This is what we need. It’s organic, farm-fresh, and prepared with the love and care of my ancestors."

You raise an eyebrow.

—"Beet jam?"

—"You doubt Schrute ingenuity. Let me teach you the true way of the Schrute table," Dwight says, placing the jar proudly on the counter like it’s the Holy Grail.

As you continue cooking, Dwight can’t help but start giving you unsolicited advice.

—"You should use the fork to stir, not the spoon. The spoon is for amateurs."

You sigh but continue to follow his instructions, your kitchen now resembling a battlefield of beets and odd ingredients.

Dinner finally finishes, and Dwight takes his seat at the table, pulling out his vintage Schrute Farms mug with a satisfied grin.

—"A well-prepared meal for a well-prepared family," he says proudly, clinking his mug against yours.

You can’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. Married life with Dwight Schrute is never boring.

—"It’s perfect, Dwight," you say, genuinely impressed with the meal, even if it does taste like it could be a side dish at a medieval feast.

Dwight looks at you, his face serious for a moment.

—"I know," he says, his voice softening just a bit. "I’m an excellent husband. And you, my dear, are an excellent spouse."

He leans over and, with an exaggerated gesture, kisses your cheek.