Apparently I am the right kind of dinner guest.
You can invite me at the last minute, even when you, yourself don't entirely know what it is that you're to be fixing.
You can shove a cast iron griddle at me when the food isn't cooking right. I'll know what the problem is, and how to correct it. As I'm doing that, you can point me to the plate that has the overflow, and I'll cook that up as well, because if you're going to cook some of it, you may as well cook it all. And yes, I have no problem gripping those squishy, slimy raw chicken breasts and reducing them to a manageable size for your pan. This is because I am an unrepentant carnivore.
You can tell me what you had in mind for dinner. I'll ask pantry questions and come up with a healthier, lower-fat alternative that uses what you have on hand. I'll hop right on it. We'll work in tandem in the kitchen, and before long, I'll set the table and we'll hustle out the hot food.
Afterwards, I'll wash the dishes.
I will also respond to a more timely invitation, dress up, apply make up, arrive on time, and bring flowers.