That might sound a bit harsh, but it's the honest truth.
Before I got married, I had never cooked an entire meal by myself. The first night Danny and I spent as a married couple, after the honeymoon and after the move, we sat down at the table around, well, dinner time. We looked at each other and then at the empty table. The realization of my non-existent culinary skills burst my newlywed bubble and the love train came screeching to a halt. A woman in love does not a Martha Stewart make. So I called the one person I can trust will always pull me back from the edge of a nervous breakdown: my mom.
"Mom, what's the easiest thing to cook for dinner!?"
"Well, that would probably be spaghetti."
She proceeded to talk me through the entire process while my patient husband waited on his clueless wife. It wouldn't surprise me if he was sitting in the other room, fire extinguisher in hand, prepared for the worst.
Around 9:30, I called Danny back into the kitchen and announced that I had finished. As I carried the pitiful looking pasta over to the table, I had a silent conversation with the Lord.
"Lord, please, PLEASE don't let this spaghetti be disgusting...and if it is in fact disgusting God, please just deaden his taste buds so he doesn't know the difference. Amen."
Fast forward two years. The cooking has improved somewhat, but I still haven't come to terms with the fact that in order to make dinner, you must have the necessary ingredients. Like, at your house.
Monday afternoon, I went to the Kroger to get something for dinner. Not only had I waited until the last minute, but I was also going at the time of day that when you get in the express check out, and the person behind you counts your items to make sure you are not there illegally. Heaven forbid!
It had been a long day at work. And I had no clue what to make. So I wandered around the store, picking up random items. Miracle Bake? I'm gonna need a miracle to get home without the assistance of local authorities. Seriously. Tired + hungry = Cranky.
Eventually Reese and I made it to the checkout. Don't give me that look lady. For your information, I have 13 items. 13. That's 2 less than 15 so I have just as much right to be here. Thank you very much.
Then came the nail in Kroger trip coffin. As I handed my credit card to the check out lady, she looks at Reese and says, "Yep, she'll be a mean one."
Excuse me? And it didn't end there.
"She's got that red hair. She's going to be mean."
"You think so?" That was the nicest thing I could mutter through clenched teeth.
"Oh yeah, I bet her grandparents have red hair, huh?" Oh great, not only is she blind, apparently she's also a geneticist.
"Well, no, they don't." Is this seriously happening right now?
"Oh, well good luck with her!"
It took everything within me not to reach across the register and whip her with my sack of Miracle Bake.
I went home and took an Advil. Later, I shared the story with Dan over our gourmet meal of Bagel Bites.
Maybe sweet (and yes, she is sweet) Baby Girl will end up with red hair. If she does, she'll match her cousin Nathan. Here's a picture with a good hair shot. What do you think?
she's right rachel. reese will be mean like a bull. it's science.
ReplyDeleteHmmm... well, I personally don't think my red-headed boy is mean. A bit ornery perhaps, but still pretty sweet... MOST of the time!
ReplyDeleteOh, and if she does have red hair, get ready for lots of comments. I even had a lady in the mall ask me if the mailman had red hair! Classy right?