Kitchen Duty Sucks

I hate cooking. There, I said it. I don't enjoy it, I'm not particularly skilled at it, and I dread each night when I have to come up with a healthy, thoughtful dinner for 4.

Last night I promised Boodle I'd make lasagna for dinner. I was excited. She was excited. Loodle, not so much as she doesn't like pasta sauce AT ALL, but oh well. Suck it up kid. However, being the complete idiot I am in the kitchen, I failed to note how LONG it would take to cook lasagna. Somehow I anticipated it would be ready in a jiffy, when in reality, it took me like a half hour to prep everything, and then was supposed to cook it for at least 50 minutes.

That would have come out of the oven 10 minutes after the kids' bedtime. Awesome. I debated for a few seconds, and then informed Boodle that a heavy Italian dinner right at bedtime was a bad call, and she could take the lasagna for lunch tomorrow or we'd eat it for dinner Friday night.

Oh my goodness. The tears. The drama. The phone call to The Man, who was conveniently staying late at work last night, who confirmed that I was indeed making the right decision. Boodle went on and on and on and ON about how sucky this was (read: how suck I was), and I tried to be understanding for a while and apologized and apologized and apologized, and then I lost it.

I yelled. I lectured. I shook my finger. I gesticulated angrily. I used the word crap. I yelled so much and for so long I became winded. Boodle went to her room for a bit and I calmed down and of course felt like a giant pile of sh*t. She came out and apologized, I apologized AGAIN, we hugged it out and I made her a turkey pot pie.

Then I found a dead scorpion in the kitchen sink.



The End.

PS - who's coming to dinner next week???