After being stuck in traffic on Wednesday night for 2 hours, I finally got home and was able to make my pies for Thanksgiving.  It’s always my favorite part! 

Jeff found this great 80’s station on our cable box, so I was dancing around the kitchen while I was making my pies.  I also kept using the spoon as a microphone and singing at the top of my lungs.  I’m fully convinced that food tastes better when you dance while making it.  I think the recipe should read “Apples?  check.  Sugar? check.  Love added when mixing?  Check, check.  Did you dance around the kitchen while stiring?  CHECK!!!”

Since I was a little preoccupied with the pies, I decided to wait a little bit to make dinner.  Jeff came in the kitchen in the middle of me belting out Whitney’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and just started laughing at me.  He decided to take matters into his own hands and make himself a bowl of Chef Boyardee goodness.  How hard could that be, right????

Well, pretty hard since I was monopolizing the stovetop space.  Alas, I relented and allowed him one burner for him to use.  After having to show him where the pans are actually kept, he opened his can and got to cooking.

Everything was going swimmingly.  Me dancing around like a lunatic, him just trying not to make eye contact lest he be drawn into my crazy rain dance.

Once he decided his food was warm enough, he asked me the question that I will never forget: “So should I get a bowl or just eat right out of the pan?”  I looked at him, trying to figure out what the punchline was, but he was not laughing.  “Are you serious?”, I said.  “Well, yes.  This pan has a nice handle, I could just hold it while I eat out of the pan.”  “But the pan is hot!” I said.  “Well, I’ll just use a trivet!” (This is now one of his favorite words that he learned from me.  Before we lived together, if you had asked him what a trivet is, he might have said a tasty dessert.  Now he tries to use it in every sentance at dinnertime.  It’s actually kinda funny.) 

I told him that might have flied when he was living his single bachelor pad lifestyle, but here in the adult cultured world, we do actually use bowls, plates, real silverware, etc.  I have never once set the dinner table with a spork!  Coincidentally, he never really cooked when he lived alone.  I beginning to wonder if there was maybe a hot pan accident gone wrong that singed the desire to cook right out of him.  I tried envisioning what that would be like, but all I could do was keep laughing.

Shaking my head, I handed him a bowl and told him that I would be MORE than happy to wash one more bowl instead of making him eat out of the pan like he was some camper lost in the woods.  Although now that I think about it, I almost wish I would have let him do it just so I could take pictures of him and mock him about it later.

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