My failure

Well folks I finally did it. Flunked as a cook, that is. Here I was invited to a potluck, and I promised I’d bring dessert. Normally I love to bake and so dessert means something rich and sticky and hopefully with chocolate. The pic you see here is of a Pecan Bakewell Tart that I created last year. No time at the present for that kind of stuff.

Today and yesterday I have been up to my eyeballs in other stuff, so I did not have time to cook. I mean it – I really did not have time. I have not cut any wood either (although we moved some!) have not done any dishes and, oh yeah, I didn’t shower today. I have been writing like crazy and I think my eyeballs are going to bleed, but domesticity has not exactly been on the radar.

So my good friends had to endure a fruit plate and store bought cookies. Now I know that Bev would be okay with that because she likes store bought cookies over the home made kind, but she wasn’t there. I think everyone else was okay with it because we ate so much in the appetizer and dinner phase that there was little room for dessert anyway.

Sometimes I would rather be one of those people that no one knows can cook. The kind that can appear at a party with buns and a small tub of spreadable butter and everyone oohs and ahhs adoringly, because they know she doesn’t know how to cook, and so there is no expectation that she would cook anything.

My sister is kind of like that. She does not cook. She can cook some stuff; it’s not as though she starved when she lived on her own. The point is that she hates to cook. She would in fact rather do dishes than cook (and normally that’d be her at the window after dinner, doing the dishes). She ooh’s and ahh’s appropriately over my cooking, which I normally appreciate. Except not tonight. I left the house in a hurry, did not cook for anyone at home, and all I can see around the kitchen is an empty TV dinner box. That means one of them ate – probably my daughter. Well, if a TV dinner counts as eating that is.

It’s like my friend Sandra told me several years ago – that I should never have showed anyone I could cook. That way they would never have expected it of me. I wonder how I can get to the point where they all forget that I could cook and we have someone in every night preparing wholesome nutritious meals – and chocolate. Maybe that guy will double as my personal trainer. Yeah, that’ll work, and just might be good for some sweet dreams too. Maybe instead of cooking this weekend, I’ll start working on that as my next writing assignment. The new novel – personal trainer who doubles as a cook and whatever else you need. Hmm. Sounds enticing.


Lynda said...

You're finally starting to see my logic!! Hah! All these years all the women in our family and circles of friends have told me that I should learn and that it's not hard.... blah blah blah!

Anonymous said...

hehehehehe, I always knew you could cook, can the new writing assignment be cute too =)

Zada Connaway, said...

Pam, I love your logic. I don't think my partner would appreciate the trainer/cook, though!
Zada Connaway, Author
Mother’s Journals: Parts 1, 2 and 3 ISBN # 1-4241-6969-0