What's for dinner?

Last night I really outdid myself. I mean I prepared a meal for my Sweetpotato that I thought only my mother had mastered- sloppy joes, oven-baked freezer fries and canned pork-n-beans. It was truly a masterpiece.

Of course, if my mother had been plating the food, there would have been a dollop of plain applesauce with a dash of cinnamon oozing through the plate and sogging up the bun. You know those weird people who don't like their food to touch? Their mothers served a lot of applesauce.

Every time I mention something about my mother's cooking she gets all defensive about how bad she really was not, but it's not a big deal. I embrace my culinary shortfalls, revel in them really. Every time Sweetpotato cooks something better than me, I oooh and ahhh and drive another nail into my cooking coffin with glee. Consequently I am never asked to do anything more for dinner than pick up a phone. The minute folks know you can do something is the minute you've lost the battle. I bake, that's enough. I have but one domestic skill and I refuse to cultivate any others. Don't ask me to iron your shirt, clean your bathtub, paint your wall, but if you need a cookie honey, I am your girl!

My mother insists that when I have children things will change, like while sleep-deprived and breast-feeding I am suddenly going to be inspired to master the pot roast. Puh-leez. There is a greater chance of Britney Spears winning a Grammy than there is that I spontaneously stop acting in my own self-interest.

So for now, a random sloppy joe is the best you're gonna get out of me- and only if I happen to be in the grocery store for baking supplies in the first place! Look at it this way, everyone has their calling- some in the kitchen, others on the phone.

Hugs and Kisses Mum!