OK, so let's get something straight.
As I said just the other day to my best bud, I CAN cook. Sorta. I CHOOSE not to.
Except for Father's Day, at which time I have no choice but to cook -- or some semblance thereof -- much to just about everyone's chagrin.
It's also the one day each year I don an apron because if I MUST channel my inner June Cleaver, it seems only fitting that she wears one. I draw the line at wearing pearls, however, because I tried that once and they made my neck itch.
At any rate, my annual Father's Day kitchen appearance, with me all decked out in my bright yellow and green sunflower apron, went almost without a hitch yesterday.
It seemed simple enough. My only real culinary duties were to bake cinnamon rolls (frozen), make hamburger patties (with a nifty press) and whip up some pink lemonade (easy peasy).
Now, John is always nervous about turning his kitchen over to me for even a minute, and he was all but cowering in a corner as I stuck the frozen cinnamon rolls in the oven.
"Seriously? A blind monkey can bake frozen cinnamon rolls," I said, somewhat annoyed. "Relax."
"It's what the blind monkey may be putting IN the cinnamon rolls that worries me," he replied dryly, as he headed reluctantly to the living room.
Hmm. Good point.
I just laughed maniacally.
Anyway, as I turned from the oven, I somehow managed to accidentally (I swear) knock John's favorite mixing bowl off the nearby dish drainer, sending it crashing to the kitchen floor and breaking into several pieces.
By the time I got all the shards swept up the rolls were done, so I grabbed a potholder, opened the oven door, went to snatch the pan of rolls but somehow dropped the potholder, and my right hand touched the very hot oven rack.
I cooled my hand with the ice-cold packet of cream cheese frosting.
To add insult to injury, the cinnamon rolls were still quite doughy in the middle.
Good news is, Rachael Ray couldn't have done a better job shaping the hamburger patties, and I totally rocked the pink lemonade.
The broken mixing bowl, however, may get me banned from the kitchen forever.
I can only hope.
Cooking exhausts me.