Every so often, I decide to do something particualarly feminine and mature. You know, wear really high heels. Experiment with new makeup colors. Watch the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. Shower. Things like that.
Last weekend, my act of maturity was to cook dinner for my dad and sister.
Remember, I’m the girl who has to buy herself chinese food as a bribe to go to the grocery store. I hate cooking.
Some of my foodie friends just gasped as though I said that I hate their boyfriends. (I can hear you through the computer.)
I’m sorry. I just don’t particularly care for his company. I could spend the occasional holiday with him, but in general I find him obnoxious, inefficient, and generally unsatisfying. I’m sure you two will be very happy together, but I prefer the pizza delivery boy.
However, I realize that someday, the pizza delivery boy will become a flabby, wrinkled old man with pleated pants and suspenders. Cooking and I do need to reconstruct a relationship of sorts, and we took another step forward this weekend.
Despite my general distaste for cooking, I began collecting recipes a few months ago from the best of the ones I happen across on the internet. They’re usually from some yuppy woman’s cooking blog where she brags about her great-great-grandmother’s china hutch that is “shabby chic,” and you can just tell by her font and page colors and tone and hipster photos that she has never gained an ounce from eating all of those triple-chocolate macademia nut fudge brownie bites. Jerk.
Somehow my relationship with cooking has become more about proving these insipid bloggers wrong. That’s right, I hope your recipe STINKS! So when I tried out this latest find, it was to “see how I could improve it.” (As if I’d then go take the time and energy to repeat the recipe over and over. Oh please.)
So far, they’ve all been good. Damn them.
It’s a bittersweet life, being The Other Woman in these cooking relationships. When I finally receive my victory, I will be eating terrible food. When I “lose,” it means I’m consuming delicious meals that I accomplished on my own, with no takeout containers or ketchup packets.
Strange, but I have accepted the challenge. Bring. It. On.
P.S. Christmas cookies are my specialty, and it’s almost time to bust them out! Hooray!