The Dangers of Domesticity

Some girls are wired for the gingham apron, hot apple pie, white picket fence life. Others are just wired for disaster.

Domesticity. It giveth and it taketh away. Its small comforts are often eclipsed by the Swiffering away of a Saturday afternoon or its lukewarming of a once-hot sex life. But occasionally domesticity actually leaves the realm of the, well, domestic and actually becomes somewhat exciting.

My couch and I were enjoying some quality one-on-one time this weekend in my dust-filled, Ikea-furnished apartment when I decided to Make Myself Dinner. The concept of a hot, quality, DIY dinner occurs to me maybe once every couple weeks, when I run out of cereal and/or milk and am feeling adventurous. This particular night I was going to make some rice and vegetables, -- yes Mom, VEGETABLES -- a 2-pot affair.

The difficulty scoring for a Femme Fatality DIY Dinner goes something like this:

EasyPeasy: No Pots - Cereal / Cheese & Crackers / Ice Cream Sandwich.

Getting Up There: One Pot - Pasta / Soup / Just a Giant Pot of Gravy*

Downright Difficult: Two Pots - Soup AND Sandwich / Rice AND Vegetables

Impossible: Two+ Pots - Who owns more than 2 pots? Seriously.

*I have never actually eaten just a Giant Pot of Gravy for dinner.

The 2-pot affair is tough for a couple reasons. Timing, concentration, and focus all become paramount. Also, even if you do own 2 pots (fancypants) you can't possibly own more than one spatula. Just doesn't happen. So stirring in the correct order become important, so to not infect your rice with more than the necessary vegetable juices or to get your rice seasonings -- yes Mom, SEASONINGS -- all over your vegetables before your big Moment of Combination.

This fateful night I just wasn't really feeling it. The rice was too sticky, the vegetables were too mushy, one of the burners wasn't even working and I had to switch things around. Things got even trickier as I began receiving a steady inflow of flirtacious emails from my Myspace crush and had to come up with witty, attractive comebacks between fluffing the rice, rinsing the spatula, stirring the vegetables, repeat.

To simplify things, I aborted the 2-pot affair. I rushed the Moment of Combination and streamlined down to a One Pot Dinner. I rinsed the spatula for the final time, laid it down on the stove, and rushed back to check my inbox.

Suddenly, the (frankly, pretty unappetizing) aroma of my DIY dinner became much more pungent and poisonous-smelling. Out of the corner of my eye, I see steam pouring out of the pot. A lot of steam. A lot of billowing, black steam. I run over to the stove to see my spatula - my one and only kitchen utensil, and a brave little soldier - ON FIRE. In my haste to condense my 2 pots into 1, I left the burner on and then carefully laid the rinsed spatula right on top of it. I threw everything I could grab - spatula, DIY dinner, washcloths, a week and half worth of dirty dishes - into the sink and turned off the burner while pouring water all over the stove (because, naturally, I don't own any baking powder.)

It was a crushing blow to my grown-up ego. Plus now I'm down a spatula (RIP, little guy) and an entire stove, as all 4 burners are covered in melted plastic. So what's a girl to do? Find reassurance in a Domestic Chore Difficulty Chart, of course:

EasyPeasy: Saturday Morning Chores for the Kids - Dusting / Vacuuming / Putting Clothes in Hamper

Getting Up There: Operating Machinery - Laundry / Dishes / Plunging Toilets

Downright Difficult: Chores Necessary to Life - Cooking / Not Infusing House with Fatal Fumes

Impossible: All of the Above, Plus Baking and Carpooling.

That, and never breathe a word of it to the Myspace crush.

Femme Fatality
Boom Chicago