Burnt Lips

I pick on my wife a lot, as I'm sure most husbands do. I just wanted everyone to know that it's all in fun and while some of what I write is very close to the truth, most of it is not. She has a great sense of humor and the only thing she requested of me is to give her a chance for a rebuttal at some point in time. I told her that would be fine. I don't know when that will be, hopefully long enough for her to forget about doing it.

First off, I would like to mention that I had a meal yesterday that was not burnt. I recognized it for what it was intended to be, and it was good. I ate a huge plate of it and suffered from overeating for hours, but it was worth it. I knew my wife could do it all along, and I told her so. "What?" she asked. "You cooked without burning the food." I said. "The electric went off in the middle of cooking," she said.



She always apologizes if my toasted cheese sandwich is burned. I assure her I don't mind at all. I like them that way, that's the way they always come out. I assumed that is how they are supposed to be cooked. Aren't they?

One of my wives pet peeves is the inability of electric appliances to function as they were intended. The oven and stove always seem to burn the food. It happens most of the time when she uses them. I often thought that is the way they were supposed to work as well. Once the food was not burnt and I asked if the oven was broken. She said it must be because nothing has ever come out of the oven looking basically the same or better than when it went in.

I like burnt food myself, it has much more flavor and is easier to digest. We had something the other night that was quite well done. She said I didn't have to eat it. I said "It's not that bad, really. What is it anyway?" Whatever was inside the breaded and well seasoned batter that covered the food item had pretty much shrunk into an unrecognizable state obscuring the visual and olfactory identification of the item it covered.

One day I reminded her that the oven had a timer. She said she knew that. She uses it all the time to tell her how long the dye in her hair has been on before she rinses it. And that it also comes in handy to let her know when she reaches her twenty minute limit on the 10-10-20 phone calls back when that was the thing. I meekly mentioned the fact that they can also be used to remind you it is time to take the food out of the oven. She said that would be worthless as she is always busy while cooking and wouldn't hear it, like when she is outside changing the oil in the car or painting the shutters. I told her she could do that stuff after the cooking was done, if it would help any.

She would then tell me that if I really wanted to help, and didn't want burnt food, that I could do all the cooking. I of course told her I was more than satisfied with her quite original and imaginative interpretation of the finer points of the culinary arts. I'll eat almost anything, even if I can't recognize it.

Now my daughter can cook! She fixes the meals once in a while, and they are very good. I asked her who taught her how to cook. She gave me a reproachful look and said, "Mom did of course!" I accused her of lying. Her mother had over heard what was going on and she told her to quit lying to her father too.

In my wives defense, part of the problem is the fact that no one in our dysfunctional little commune happens to like the same food. So on any given night, she will in fact be cooking three or four different meals, all at varying temperatures and cooking lengths.

Myself, I'll eat anything. My daughter doesn't like what my son likes, my son doesn't like what my daughter likes, my wife doesn't like food at all. And did I mention that I'll eat anything? If I'm asked what I would like to eat for dinner, I simply reply, "Food."

My son saw a frying pan on the stove one day and asked what it was. I told him it was a frying pan, something you cook food in. He said oh, speaking of food, what's for dinner. My son rarely ever cooks. He used to fry hotdogs once in a while. Then he found it was easier and neater to boil them instead. That's about the extent of his cooking talent.

Anyway, just to repeat myself, this is all in fun and I'm really not the jerk I pretend to be. I like my wife's cooking. I know how much she hates to do it. If we could afford it, we would buy out every night. But then, we would have to figure out who was going to get it and how to get the vendor to burn it...