Have I ever mentioned that I don’t really cook?
There’s good reason for this.
I is a DANGER.
I don’t particularly enjoy cooking and I’m also not very good at it.
That could be because I almost never do it but let’s not get nitpicky here, mmmmmmmmmmmkay?
I like things to be simple and if food takes longer to prepare than to eat, then you can just forget it.
The other day I come home from work to find the bee relaxing on the couch reading a book.
I got excited because the couch looked GOOOOOOOOD.
So I decided to join the bee for a little nap before I had to do some writing and before he got dinner started.
The nap was AWE-some.
So awesome, in fact, that it lasted about 3 hours and by the time we woke up the whole house was dark and getting anything accomplished that evening was pretty much nixed.
as humanoids we really needed to eat something. It was after 9:00 so it was gonna have to be something quick and easy.
Being that I’m the total package, I told the bee that I would take care of dinner even though that’s usually his bag.
Get this… he actually likes cooking.
Crazy, I know.
And since you were wondering, the answer is NO. He’s MINE.
I chose frozen pizza which requires, at most, my taking it out of the freezer, slapping those bad boys on the oven rack, setting the timer and 15 minutes later:
You have a piece of pizza slightly better than the worst slice you’ve ever eaten!
At this point we weren’t as excited as we were STARVING.
Things were going well until about 12 minutes in. It was then that the bee suggested I check on the pizza. You know, to make sure I didn’t fuck up the easiest dinner in the history of food preparation.
So I flip on the oven light and notice, to my GREAT dismay, that one of the slices is actually dangling dangerously low to the bottom rack, thus causing massive cheese and pepperoni slide-age.
I grabbed a spatula and slid it under the end of the slice that was still horizontal, except that I must have applied a little too much force to that end because it resulted in the pizza falling through the slats in the rack, and landing facedown on the oven floor.
You know how you can usually smell your food before you even see it?
Well, within about 5 seconds of the pizza splatting on the oven floor, the house began to fill with the putrid stench of burning flesh cheese. Even worse than the smell was the smoke.
Oh lord, the smoke.
You would have thought we set fire to the living room rug because quickly the smoke made its way from the kitchen to the living room where we keep the world’s loudest and most freakishly disturbing smoke detector of. ever.
It is shrill and ear piercing and I hear that’s a good quality for one of those things since they’re supposed to protect you from dying of smoke inhalation or whatever.
Here’s the deal though:
The smoke detector is located on the ceiling of our living room. The ceiling of our living room is about 15 feet high which means that as someone who clocks in just under 5’3 I can’t even begin to reach that sucker without the help of the full extension of a broom’s handle and a step ladder.
Since I have clearly proven at this point that I have no business being in the kitchen, the bee takes to salvaging what is left of dinner while I scrounge up the gear needed for my battle.
Even with the stool, trying to stop that evil fucks’ monstrous scree in a timely fashion is a test of true acrobatics.
As most people know, once the alarm sounds, it is likely that it will sound MUL-TI-PLE times even after you manage to quiet it once. Since we weren’t having the best of luck getting the smoke out of the house in the first place, that shitty piece of shit went off another twelve times before I was finally able to successfully disarm the beast.
After scraping the burnt-on cheese crust from the bottom of the oven, the bee threw in another slice in the hopes of carrying on with dinner.
15 minutes later the bee returned with his slice.
As it turns out, during the shenanigans of the pizza splatting and the smoke rising and the alarm blaring, I had turned the oven OFF mostly because I am highly neurotic and figured it wasn’t helping our situation any if the oven was still pumping out gas while we were trying to stabilize the air to smoke ratio in the house.
This was something I had unfortunately neglected to mention to the bee, therefore this piece of pizza was almost as bad as the first. Instead of getting a blackened piece of cheese-less cardboard, he now had a slice that could be at best considered *mostly* defrosted and the consistency of a limp noodle.
However, being really hungry will lower your standards of edibility so it’s not like we went hungry that night.
but that’s pretty much the norm…