Burning blonde
If you check out my Facebook, you'll notice I recently "liked" Bed, Bath & Beyond. Admittedly, I had never stepped foot into the store until last night. You see, I am a terrible driver with no depth perception or sense of direction, so rarely do I venture to Canton for anything, especially to places like The Strip, where traffic is a nightmare.
But one would think, given my new found love of all things kitchen, that Bed, Bath & Beyond would be the one place I'd travel hell and high water to get to. Sorry folks, death and destruction of my vehicle (as well as my life) has never been worth a lettuce spinner.
That was until my boyfriend took me there last night. Let's just say… it was an epiphany. I'm happy to report that I will probably waste my life purchasing potato peelers, bamboo salad bowls and yes, that insanely awesome lettuce spinner. Seriously, it's the greatest invention ever created. Get one.
But here's the problem. As accident-prone as I am in the car, I am far more accident-prone in the kitchen. I recently went on this spree that I can only dub the "I'm trying to burn the house down" rampage.
It all started at home. We have a gas stove, and sometimes, it just doesn't want to light. Attempt after attempt, I stand there, listening to that ominous clicking as gas fills the air around me. Most of the time, I just get scared and call for dad. Rarely do I reach for the matches, as more than once, I have waited until a nice ball of gas has formed around the burner before I strike for a light. It'll burn your hand and scare the you-know-what out of you every single time. Just saying.
But as hard as it is for me to light the stove, it's apparently just as difficult for me to realize when it's still on and the flame has gone out… That is, until my dad enters the kitchen, catches that unmistakable odor, and realizes what an absolute imbecile his daughter is. Thankfully though, he has always realized this before the house explodes.
So that's the first story. The second is a multi-part saga that just never seems to want to end. The best (or worst) part is, it's not even happening in my own home. It's happening at some place I'll just refer to as… well… let's just leave that alone. Unlike whatever show that was on TV, I cannot change names to protect the innocent in this situation. It's early in the morning and I don't have THAT many creative juices flowing. Anyway, this story takes place somewhere in Ohio. That's all I'm going to say.
This particular stove, at the place-that-must-not-be-named, is electric. I don't understand electric anything. Toaster ovens, microwaves, those automatic can openers… none of it makes sense. Stoves are no exception.
But being the Betty Crocker I am, I have survived (barely) and made plenty of meals on this electric stove, most of which have turned out quite delicious (as long as you don't count the beef stroganoff incident of 2012).
This one time (OK, three times… not at band camp), I made my meal, pulled the pan from the burner and turned the little nob to "off" – or so I thought.
After devouring my concoction that fateful night, I was sitting on the couch, lounging around with a full belly, when I noticed the little "hot surface" light was still on.
I walked over, looked at the burners, none of which were red in color, and thought… hmm… maybe they are just still cooling down.
Uh. No.
Several more hours went by, and that stupid little light was STILL on! This time, I made my boyfriend check it out. He's handy like that.
He walked over and remarked, "Man! It's really hot over here! I wonder if..."
(Here's where it gets interactive. Go ahead and insert a long pause at this point in the story. Then a head turn. No movement of the body, just that head turn. You know the one.)
"Babe. Did you turn this burner off?" he asked.
"Umm… Yes?"
"No. You didn't."
(Insert another long pause, but this time, my own head turns. You know the kind, right before you run away, tail tucked between your legs. Wait, no. I don't have a tail… I mean… whatever. It's not important.)
I knew I needed to spin this in my favor. How do you do this, you ask? Make the man sound like a hero. It works every time. I swear.
"Wow. I'm glad you noticed. I could have burned the house down!" OK. I lied. That didn't really work.
His response was something to the effect of, "No kidding," although, he didn't really say the word "kidding." He was serious.
So here I am today. I keep telling myself not to make this "the burner is on and I don't really know it" thing a long-lasting phase (although it has already gone on several weeks, with a total of four incidents). I don't want my stove privileges revoked. A stove is a vital thing when you're trying to make dinner.
This morning though, as I put all the pieces together, I realized how smart I actually CAN be, if you don't count the stovetop problems I've been having. You see, I figured out that my boyfriend took me to Bed, Bath & Beyond for a reason…
I think he WANTED me to see all the salad spinners, so I start making things that don't require an electric device. That aisle, the one right by the Keurig cups, filled with salad spinners and bamboo bowls, was him telling me that I should buy more stuff! I should own everything in that aisle so I can create delicious salads, sans stove, for him and I, all year long. Right!?
Yes. It's decided. Next paycheck, we're back at Bed, Bath & Beyond and I will be the owner of a new salad spinner, bamboo bowl, and who knows what else.
Because in the end, I don't think I can really hurt myself, or anyone around me, with a salad spinner. I hope.
Published: February 1, 2012
