Don’t Call Me Betty Crocker…

…call me Betty Klutz-er.
I don’t know WHAT is up with me tonight. I wanted to try a new, fairly easy-looking chicken stir-fry recipe. But very shortly into the cooking, things began to unravel.
I needed a measuring cup, and when I opened the cabinet a mixing bowl had shifted and fell out, shattering on top of my glass cake safe, breaking it as well. Glass went everywhere – and not just the big pieces that are easy to see, but tiny shards that you can only find when the light hits them just so.
I suspended culinary duties to clean up the mess, which took considerable time. I know I didn’t get all of it because there were just so many tiny pieces.
Back to cooking. I needed a lid from a lower cabinet, and when I bent to get it I banged my head on a towel rack. I was about to put two frozen egg rolls in the oven, and when I tipped the box on it’s side so the egg rolls would slide out, a large shard of glass slid with them and cut my finger. The box had been sitting open when the bowl broke.
With a paper towel clamped to stop the bleeding (it was a really small cut, but stubborn) I made rice, carefully inspecting it as much as possible to make sure no glass had gotten in the open rice bag. Then I spilled rice everywhere.
I bent to get a wok from another lower cabinet, and banged my head again.
I finally cooked the recipe, and things seemed okay. The dish was decent – not a flop but I’m not sure it was worth the work.
Lee pulled a hair from his rice. Sorry.
I ran my hands through my hair a few minutes later and found a piece of rice stuck in it. The rice and I must’ve traded.
When Lee took his last bite, he suddenly started starting spitting it back onto the plate. “Piece of glass,” he said between sputters. GREEEEAAAT.
Tomorrow – take out food.

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