So, I’m an educated person. I do many things well.
However, the first time I do something? If it is not explained fully to me, I often do not make basic connections. Because, on occassion, I wear my ass for a hat.
For instance, I can probably figure out how to connect the PVC piping to the Y-juncture in order to re-plumb my sump pump. More than likely I can figure out how to cut the pipe at the appropriate angle and seal it correctly before installing. However, it’s unlikely that I would remember to turn the water off before doing so.
And thus, my occasional asshatery.
I get so caught up in the tough things that I forget all about the easy, obvious stuff.
So, now that we’re in the new house, I’m trying diligently to get more healthy food into my family. And since I’m saving money, that means cooking.
I can’t cook, did you know this?
It’s too easy.
So I decided to make some Sweet and Spicy Sweet Potatoes. I’ll ruin the story and let you know that they turned out delicious.
But that’s actually not the point of this story.
The point is, I can’t cook because I am an asshat.
I cut and prepped the potatoes. I mixed them all together in the sweet and spicy goodness.
Then, I proceeded to put my ass on as a hat and dumped all of that deliciousness onto a cookie sheet. For that is how you roast things, no?
The potatoes were in the oven for about 2 minutes before David called out “K?? Are these supposed to be smoking this much?”
To which I responded with a whithering glare. If you do not like the way I am cooking, do it yourself, man.
And therein lies the problem. David is a good cook. He just isn’t into the whole “vegetable” thing. So I’m trying to take over that initiative and let him focus on meats and cheeses and the like. But his skill means that I am intensely sensitive about any criticism. Really, this sensitivity does not put me in a terribly flattering light.
But then, neither does wearing my ass for a hat.
So, naturally, I choose to let my anger simmer and the potatoes burn.
David says “Hon? It’s getting pretty smoky in here.”
With a huff, I enter the kitchen. And my stomach drops. For lo and behold, it IS getting quite smoky in there. I open the oven door to find lovely roasting potatoes. And oil pouring off the cookie sheet onto the bottom of the oven to burn.
It is then that a light goes on above my head: roasting pan. Which I could have used for the potatoes I was roasting. Which up until that moment I had legitimately thought was only for meat.
So, we turned off the oven. Waited for it to cool. I removed my head from my butt. I clean the oven. I re-roasted.
This time, in a roasting pan.
And the potatoes turned out to be delicious.
The anger I had been simmering however? Turned into a disappointing humiliation stew.