I am not domestically inclined. There, I’ve said it. Phew. That is a load off my mind. Ok, post over. Thanks for stopping by.
What? You need more? WHAT THE HELL?!
Yeah, ok so I’m not a good cook. Nor am I a good baker. My apartment is passably clean at best. On a good day. When I’ve been really bored and just cleaned. And the person who’s judging whether or not it’s clean has really bad eyesight…
That all said, I don’t usually burn what I’m cooking. Yes, it happens, but it’s rare. And, in fact, I have not burned anything since I moved into this apartment a month and a half ago. And yet, despite not burning ANYTHING I have set the smoke detector off almost every goddamn time I cook.
What the frak kitchen?! Why do you hate me?
I suppose I should amend that to say smoke detector as that is really the little bastard who has it out for me. However, I feel quite strongly that the detector and kitchen are working hand in hand to drive me ferking nuts. It’s a team effort. If nothing else, I’ve helped them bond over a common enemy.
Megan: Bringing harmony and restoring relationships, one kitchen at a time.
In this scenario, I imagine that the kitchen and smoke detector had a falling out years ago and haven’t seen eye to eye since then. Throwing insults back and forth over the metaphorical fence that is their hatred for each other that has kept them separated all this time until one day, a new person moved in and in that person they found a common enemy over which they were able to restore their bond and once more battle the forces of evil (me) in the harmonious brotherhood that can only be found among comrades in arms.
[How’s that for a run on sentence?]
So, when I first moved in and the first meal I cooked (and then the second and third) set the smoke detector off I decided to make a chart.
Before you ask; No, I have no idea why the picture is on it’s side like that. And I can’t figure out how to change it. Le sigh.
This chart was to chronicle the epic battle between the kitchen and I. Eventually I was able to decode the kitchen’s battle plan and launch an epic counterstrike using the exhaust fan and open window to mitigate any fumes that may have caused the smoke detector to sound the alarm.
As the days went by, turning into weeks, I figured that the kitchen and I had come to an uneasy truce. Deciding the battle was over, I tallied the results on my chart (obviously I didn’t mark down all of my winnings as I didn’t want to rub it in the kitchen’s face, that’s just the type of person I am) and announced the winner: I had emerged victorious.
Ever the gracious victor, I shook hands with my kitchen and gave it an encouraging, “Good game, sir.”
The peace lasted for such a long time that I considered throwing the chart away. We’d had two whole weeks with no word from the asshole smoke detector. I guess I grew complacent and perhaps I started taking that peace for granted because, one day (let’s call that day today) I did the unthinkable: I put bread covered in cheese in the oven and turned on the BROILER!
The smoke detector jumped on this and screeched for a good ten seconds before I managed to stop it, but the damage was already done.
The chart stayed up on the fridge and we’ve now started round two. The kitchen has a commanding lead but I’m thinking of expanding my arsenal and buying a fan.
One day, one brilliant day in the not too distant future, I will make the kitchen my beotch once again. I swear this on my frying pan.