Cooking With Fire. Literally.

For years now, my cooking has been a running joke between Mr. B and me.  (Now a public running joke since I introduced my blogging buddies (back on my old blog), Twitter peeps, and Facebook friends to it.) It all started we found ourselves in Burger King, for the third time in a week after I ruined another meal.

"I just get too distracted by the kids.  I don't mean to burn everything to a crisp but, you know, I forget to turn off the stove when taking care of things.  Besides, I like to save time so I figure I'll just let some things cook - er burn - while I chop other stuff and clean the dishes and change diapers and, and, etc."

"Why don't I do the cooking for a while."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I'll take over."

(Trying to contain my over excitement.) "Okay, only if you want to."

Fast forward 3 years later and Mr. B is still the primary cook.  His cooking skills, and I'm not being snarky here, are professional level.  Eating his food is like sitting in a high-end restaurant.  So. Freaking. Good.

A few weeks ago, when I caught the flu, my first (and, yes, selfish) thought was, "I hope Mr. B doesn't get sick."

[As a quick side note, I am the worst sick person in the world. Summed up by this -

 Mr. B. I'M DYING.  DON'T YOU CARE????

In all fairness, I do get really sick.  Perhaps because I get like a few hours of sleep max when in school?]

So when Mr. B woke up with a sore throat a few days later, I panicked. If he got as sick as I did, I'd have to cook, which means we'd probably end up in a restaurant 100% of the time and/or eating PB&J sandwiches.

Fortunately for all of us, before I broke out the pans and prepared the kitchen for a smoke overload, Ben got better.  (It helps that his sicknesses are typically 1/16 on the serious level, even when you factor in my melodramatic tendencies.)  Our stomachs and pocket book were saved.

Until 2 weeks later, when Mr. B went out with his friends.  And then this happened (via Facebook and Twitter):

Well I just set the stove on fire. AND THIS IS WHY I DON'T

COOK.

Yep.

**Don't worry, we were all okay.  Only my pride was damaged***.

***Except that I don't have any pride left, so.....