The week got worse, before I could see any noticeable improvement.
The other night, I lost focus in the kitchen. I was cooking my favorite shrimp soup, and placed the burner on high to achieve boiling. And just then, I made myself a cup of coffee. With just a splash of Mocha Kahlua for added taste. And I thought to myself, “well now, a dollop of cool whip would make this moment perfect.”
Knowing the refrigerated cool whip was last seen a day or three ago, I headed out to the freezer, to quickly grab a tub. But, I couldn’t find it. Frantically, I tore the freezer apart. I was certain that I had just bought two tubs not more than two days ago.
And then I heard, “MOM, SOMETHING’S BURNING!” Like they automatically assume that I’m the cause of something burning in this house.
Sure enough, the shrimp had reached a boiling point, and evacuated from the sauce pan. To escape their own stench, I suppose.
As if this type of thing happens all the time lately, everyone wordlessly assumed their battle stations, opening windows and doors, and turning on fans. All while pinching their nostrils closed.
While I cried.
And then Fiddledaddy came into the kitchen to warm up my freezing cold coffee concoction. And even though no cool whip graced the top, it was just what the doctor ordered.
But, I think I’m seeing a light at the end of a dark culinarious tunnel. This morning, I made a delicious pan of scrambled eggs.
Nothing caught fire. I just thought I’d report that.
When Emme cleaned her plate, she looked up at me and said with great enthusiasm, “MOM, THOSE EGGS WERE DELICIOUS. THEY TASTED JUST LIKE THE EGGS AT MCDONALDS.”
Which, really, is the pinnacle of culinary achievement here in the House of Fiddle.
Frankly, I can only go up from here.