My husband and I have a running disagreement. It stems from the fact that, while I’m an enthusiastic cook, I don’t follow recipes. I scan them for relevant data (primary ingredients, the gist of how the thing is cooked) and then make them my own. Usually it turns out well. Occasionally it doesn’t. Always, it incites fear in the heart of my husband. He’s the kind of person who believes recipes (and rules in general) exist for a reason.

Today was a case in point. Unable to locate our favorite popcorn at Fresh Market, I promised to make an even better version for him when we got home. Dr. Oz had just done a show about popcorn in which he warned that the chemicals in store-bought microwave popcorn is bad for your health. He suggested instead popping plain corn in a paper bag in the microwave.

It couldn’t be easier, I told my husband. Corn and a bag! I had this.

He was skeptical. As I knew he would be. All I had was Oz’s word. I didn’t have anything in the way of measurements. “It won’t work,” my husband said.

“It can’t NOT work,” I said. “Kernels in a paper bag, bag in the microwave. What’s not to work?”

It wouldn’t taste the same, he said. The popcorn would be dry. The salt wouldn’t stick. Without the salt it wouldn’t be worth eating.

“I’ll mist it with olive oil,” I said.

“It’ll drip,” he said.

The issue of course wasn’t popcorn or the relative benefits of misting vs. popping with oil. The issue is that we have vastly different approaches to work and the world. My husband’s perfectionism serves him well in the realm of fine art, while my looser approach allows me the flexibility I need to endlessly revise and rethink my writing. He occasionally wins me over to his side, as I occasionally win him over to mine. After endless rounds of popcorn discussion, he finally agreed to try it my way. We would get the paper bags. We would pop the corn. We would mist with olive oil.

I would prove that flexibility trumped perfectionism.

And then I remembered. We don’t own a microwave.