The other day I set out to make some hamburgers. Plain old ordinary burgers. And then, I decided that I should whip up some mushrooms on the side burner while steaming vegetables inside the house. So, there I was with 4 burgers cooking on the grill, a pan of mushrooms sizzling on the side burner, and a pot of steamed yellow squash on the pressure cooker. (It's really great with parmessean cheese, salt, and pepper).
Well, to make a long story short, everything turned out good, except I really burned the hamburgers. I mean bad. Black. Carcinogenic. Like Charcoal.
Later I was taking a shower while Anna was in the bathroom doing her hair. I chuckled to myself in the shower. She asked me what was so funny. I told her that I was trying to console myself by coming up with some sort of spiritual parrallel for my hamburgers.
She paused for a second and said, "Don't tell me you were trying to make a burnt offering."
"No," I replied, "All I could come up with was, 'This too shall pass.'"
Fast-forward a few days...to today! I came home from work and I smelled something burning. The stove vent was blowing wide open. Two pots sat on the stove. The burners were off. My wife was no where to be found. I tip-toed into the kitchen and gingerly lifted the lid off of the pan. It took a moment to identify the carnage, but I soon figured out that it was supposed to be spaghetti sauce. Only, it wasn't very saucy. As a matter of fact, the bottom half-inch or so looked remarkably like the hamburgers that I had made just a few days ago: black, hard, and crusty.
I sauntered down the hall into the bedroom and there was Anna, under the covers, with a pillow over her head. I pulled back the pillow and she said:
"I don't want to talk about it."
What's a man to do in a situation like this?
"So, where do you want to go?"
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1 comment:
Yeah, I gotta admit. That was a great response.
I can't think of any other way you could have handled it.
Maybe offered to wash the pot for her...
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