Bite Me . . . I mean, It.

As a kid, we rarely ate out at restaurants.

Primarily because it’s super expensive to feed a family of six; three of whom are growing boys.

But also because we suspect that my three brothers were raised by a pack of wolves and my parents probably didn’t find it rewarding to drop 60 bucks on a meal that was accompanied by constant squabbling and the sound of several straws getting sucked on via their empty glasses.

To my mother’s credit, she didn’t radiate the resentment that I do every time I have to prepare a meal that involves more than 1.5 steps (Open package and place in microwave.  Press start).

Whenever I mention my extreme dislike of cooking, folks will say, “But it’s EASY.  You just have to follow a recipe/use good ingredients/give a crap”.

First of all, it’s not easy.  People who say that are either  1) smarter than me because they obviously have some sort of advanced problem-solving skill that I don’t have, or 2) dumber than me because they’ve spent time mastering a skill that is way less important than most other skills.  Namely, programming a DVR, cutting a baby’s fingernails without making them bleed, or learning how to look busy when you’re not.

Just to mention a couple of things.

Second of all, even if it is easy, I don’t care.  I mean, swiping a toilet brush around a toilet bowl is easy, but you don’t want to do that, do you?  And that takes way less time than cooking an entire meal.

difficult task + lack of giving a crap = skill that continues to remain unlearned

See, it’s science!  (Or math.  Whatever.)


Okay, so here is the conversation that took place yesterday after I picked up Sydney from school.

Sydney:  “Mom, what are you going to cook for Thanksgiving dinner?”

Me:  Well, I’m not planning to COOK, per say.  I’m primarily going to eat.  You see, Mommy works very hard to be a charming and amusing person so that we get invited to other people’s homes for major holidays.

Sydney:  Yeah, that’s what I told Mrs. Hendry.

Me:  Aww, you told her that I’m charming and amusing?  That’s sweet.

Sydney:  No, I told her you’re going to cook nothing for Thanksgiving.

Me:  What? You told her that I won’t make anything for Thanksgiving?  Why would you tell her that?

Sydney:  Well, she asked what our mommies are going to make for Thanksgiving dinner and I told her that you will make nothing.

Me:  First of all, that is sexist.  Not all mommies cook.  Maybe daddies should get off their rear ends and go whip up some stuffing or a pumpkin pie or something.  Second of all, I may not actually cook, but I always make sure that we spend time with someone who CAN cook.  This year, Aunt Amy and Uncle Kevin will be doing the cooking.  I will work very hard, hovering around making ridiculous comments like, “which end of this stick-thingy to I use to stir? or “why do you keep gloves in this drawer near the oven?”.  That’s WORK, you know.  Some might even call it a form of art.

Sydney:  Yeah.  But you’re still cooking nothing for Thanksgiving.

I know that what she’s saying is actual fact.  But she’s just so judge-y about it.

I am so going to eat her slice of pie.

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