This Is Woman's Work with Nicole Kalil - Ask the Damn Question | Unfiltered & Unhinged

Episode Date: January 30, 2026

If you’ve ever turned a simple request into a full-blown production — congratulations, you’re one of us. In this short, unfiltered episode of This Is Woman’s Work, Nicole Kalil shares a painfully relatable story involving kindergarten, lasagna, glitter, and a catastrophic failure to ask a clarifying question. This episode is a reminder (and a loving call-out) for all the women who default to over-functioning, over-planning, and over-complicating things that were never meant to be that deep. Sometimes the bravest, smartest move isn’t doing more — it’s asking the damn question. Because clarity beats chaos. And noodles in a box beat four trays of lasagna. If you’re spiraling over something that feels way harder than it should be, this episode will hit you right in the overachiever feels. A funny, human reminder that better communication — and one simple question — can save you a whole lot of unnecessary stress. Thank you to our sponsors! Sex is a skill. Beducated is where you learn it. Visit https://beducate.me/pd2550-womanswork and use code womanswork for 50% off the annual pass. Connect with Nicole: Subscribe to Nicole’s Substack: https://nicolekalil.substack.com/  Join the Inner Circle: https://nicolekalil.myflodesk.com/newsletter  Related Podcast Episode Yell for Help | Unfiltered & Unhinged Share the Love: If you found this episode insightful, please share it with a friend, tag us on social media, and leave a review on your favorite podcast platform! 🔗 Subscribe & Review:Apple Podcasts | Spotify | Amazon Music | YouTube Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Visit medcan.com slash moments to get started. I am Nicole Khalil and you're listening to the This Is Woman's World podcast, the unfiltered and unhinged edition. Short episodes, big truths, absolutely zero perfection. Okay, if you've ever wildly overcomplicated something that was meant to be simple, this one's for you. So once upon a time, and I start that way so that you know that I'm in storytelling mode. Back when JJ was in kindergarten, I got this text from Jay that said something to the effect of, Jay J.J. needs to bring lasagna to school next week. I was trying to, traveling for work, so I gave the text a thumbs up and went about my day, not at all worried about lasagna. Now, fast forward a couple days, and I'm back home and Jay, who does 99% of the cooking in our house, asks, so what are we doing about this lasagna? And before I move on, I need to share some important context. This man can cook anything. Mediterranean food's so good it'll make you weep, vegetables that make you forget you're eating something healthy. He can roast, toast, saute, flambay, braise, bake, grill, and garnish.

He even owns his own special garnishing tools, like a pro. Truly, he's never made a bad meal. But lasagna? Absolutely not. He refuses to even try, like he's got some sort of deep moral opposition to layered pasta. So I think, fine, I'll handle it. My mom makes an amazing lasagna, so I'll grab her recipe and I'll do it myself. This, by the way, is the cluelesson.

culinary equivalent of my best friends saying, oh, my friend has a podcast, I'll just get some tips and launch one next week. Overconfident or delusional. You get to decide. Because lasagna, as I understand it, isn't a whip it up real quick situation. It's a why is this taking four hours and where the hell do we keep the casserole dishes sort of situation? And real question, do you even make lasagna in a casserole dish? Because I was guessing there. Anyway, naturally, I panicked. And because I'm I'm a figure it out, step up when needed kind of woman, just like every other woman I know. I did the only respectable thing.

I placed a catering order for way too many trays of lasagna from our local Italian place. I mean, I didn't know. Was this a class party where parents going to eat two? How much does a five-year-old even eat? Half a serving? A quarter. I mean, JJ eats like a full-grown adult at a Vegas buffet.

So I just panicked and I ordered enough to feed a mid-sized village. So, flash forward, I pick up the trays and the bread and the plates and the napkins and utensils because apparently I've decided to cater snack time for the entire district. And Monday morning, we heat everything up, we load the car, and we drive to school. Jay, standing there in a full business suit, is in this elementary cafeteria holding four steaming trays of lasagna like a man questioning every life choice that led him to this moment. And that's when I notice. The other parents are standing around with grocery bags.

And inside those bags, boxes of uncooked pasta, facili, spaghetti, macaroni, and that's when it hits me. This wasn't a lunch. It was an art project. They were making art with pasta. And our job was to bring a box of lasagna, one box, not four trays, just to be clear. Meanwhile, we brought enough a lasagna to feed a kindergarten army. So I look at Jay and start laughing so hard that I can barely breathe, and that's when the panic sets in.

Because guess what these grubby-fingered little da Vincies don't have for their art project? Yep, you guessed it. Lazzania noodles. So I pull myself together, walk over to the teacher, explain my mistake, and through her tears of laughter, she tells me not to worry. A couple other parents got lasagna, too. And those parents weren't idiots like me. Okay, she didn't say that, but we all know how to read between the lines.

Anyway, the next hour was a blur of noodles, glue, glitter. I mean, glitter is my kryptonite, by the way. Paint, chaos, you get the idea. And then later in the day, we get an email thanking us for the delicious lunch that the teachers, custodians, and administrators all enjoyed. Because apparently, I brought enough for the whole school. Go big or go home, right? Okay, so what's the moral of this story? There isn't one. Except maybe if something seems too big,

too hard, or too complicated, ask a damn question. Maybe, just maybe, I could have asked a follow-up question or two. Read the fine print. Sought clarification. I could have wondered why lasagna at 9 a.m. made any sense at all. So maybe, like me, you're over-complicating something right now that was meant to be simple. Maybe you're out there stressing over your own metaphorical lasagna. You're over planning the big thing, overdoing the small thing, triple checking the wrong thing, when really, all it's needed is noodles in a box. Or maybe this just makes you feel better about yourself today. Or maybe it just made you laugh. Any way you slice it, communication matters. And when it fail spectacularly, at least you'll have a good story. And probably some leftovers.

Okay, if this kind of unfiltered, slightly unhinged, deeply human truth is your thing, make sure you're subscribed to the This Is Woman's Work podcast so you don't miss anything. And if you prefer reading your chaos, they'll find the links in our notes to my substack where all of my best and worst ideas live. Or you can join our inner circle where you will get more first and fully unfiltered. because we're layering more than pasta over here. And asking good questions? Well, that's always woman's work.