Terror in the Kitchen

Mark hasn't been feeling well so I've been allowed into the kitchen lately to prepare a few meals. It was just about seventeen years ago that Mark took over my kitchen and he has made a few changes. What used to be a very user friendly place, seeing as how I was the only prior user, has now become a mine field of potential injury and death. In my single days my kitchen equipment consisted of a couple of plates (You never know when you might have company), a couple of coffee mugs (Even though I never made coffee), a cereal bowl, one large spoon that I used to eat cereal with, and a half dozen forks and knives. I had no blender, no mixer, no Panini grill, but I did have a microwave, a frying pan, a sauce pan, and a large pot for making jambalaya. If you opened my kitchen cabinets you would find some salt and pepper, and possibly some raisins (I like raisins) but very little else. In the fridge would be a steak and some pork chops along with frozen Brussels sprouts. That was all, and is why I weighed fifty pounds less than I do now.

          

  Since Mark moved in here, he has been systematically filling the kitchen with things, dangerous things. He has a deep fryer that tries to spit boiling oil into my eyes, a giant mixer that could snap the arm off a small child, various grinders, openers, and things that stick, stab, and chop...  oh, and a Panini grill. In addition to all his gadgets there is the crap in the cabinets. Each and every kitchen cabinet that used to hold very little, are now jammed to the point of bursting at the seams. There is one cabinet that terrifies me the most, and that is the one above the sink that is filled with about three hundred pounds of canned foods. I am terrified that one of these days I am going to be bending over to load the dishwasher and that thing is going to come crashing down and crush me, especially since I know that I'm the one who attached it to the wall some thirteen years ago.