Thursday, June 11, 2015

Cuisine Esclave

Mark asked me to cook dinner last night. He wasn't feeling very good. In fact if he asks me to make dinner it means he must be near the point of calling 911 for an ambulance. I don't cook dinner. Other than letting me make breakfast and cleaning up after him, Mark considers the kitchen off limits for me. He has a point. For instance that breakfast thing. For eighteen years Mark has been trying to teach me how to make scrambled eggs the way he likes them. It wasn't until a month ago that I finally figured it out and understood what Mark was trying to show me. Now he gets scrambled eggs all the time, maybe to the point where he may get sick of them. It was hard overcoming Mom's way of scrambling eggs. I was taught by Lila that you first fry bacon in the pan, then you dump some eggs in that bacon grease and stir that shit around. Voila! Scrambled eggs, Lila style, or as Mark calls it, crap fried in grease. So anyway, Mark wants me to cook dinner. He didn't tell me to call and order a pizza, Chinese, or Mexican. He told me to fry up some of that hamburger meat in the refrigerator along with the frozen French Fries he had in the freezer. If I were cooking for only myself and the dogs that would be a dandy idea. But cooking for Mark? I would only be asking for trouble. It usually goes like this. After a lot of banging of pans and dishes in the kitchen, stirring things, flipping things, and burning things, I call out to Mark that "Dinner is ready!" Mark then sits himself down at the dinner table and I plop down a dish full of steaming food in front of him. He then picks at it for a few minutes before declaring it inedible and pushing it to the side where the dogs eagerly wait. So I didn't want to cook last night. I putzed around in my office for quite a while, figuring I'd start dinner sometime after six in the evening. It turned out well this waiting until after six. Because just around a minute after six I heard Mark in the kitchen banging pans, pots, and dishes while cursing me out for not cooking dinner. Mark had dragged himself out of his sick bed and was making dinner. Procrastination, it's a good thing sometimes.


  1. Poor Mark being forced to make dinner while terribly awefully ill and no one to cook for him in his hour of need. So did the right thing. You could have made him sicker than he already was. I'm sure he must have be grateful for that.

  2. I really miss Alicia, where has she been anyway?

    1. Alicia and Alexis got packed away when the real estate guy told us to de-clutter. I assumed the house would sell and those girls would turn up at the new house for some exciting new adventures in Chicago. Apparently this house selling thing is harder than I thought it would be and those poor girls are stuck in a box in the storage locker.