Getting sober entails so much more than putting down the drink and abstaining from cocaine. This was brand new information. I thought it’d be, “ok, don’t drink, ok, good job, you graduated.” Lies. Life altering revelations were blindsiding me in the very beginning, and they still are, but I’m taking notice of the smaller necessary changes, too. It’s like growing up for real this time; I just recently decided it’s time to start with a basic survival skill: cooking.
This morning started as Operation Make Omelet but ended in a near-fire bailout. It began innocently enough; eggs in a bowl, check; mix eggs around; check; put nonstick stuff in stupid-proof-omelet device…Fail. Spilling oil all over the burner didn’t seem like a big deal to me, until everything started smoking and Safety Squad Mom was called for backup. Evidently that’s a great way to start a fire. No big deal, I’ll use the other burner.
Fat chance. Things were back on track until the omelet device started spewing egg guts and hot oil everywhere. I have the disease of more, dammit, and three eggs with five sides of veggies couldn’t fit in the stupid-proof-easy-omelet-maker-thingy. There was too much everything so naturally I panicked and tried to prematurely flip the whole kit and kaboodle. This is where it really went down hill.
The double sided pan was never securely fastened, so when I tried to turn it upside down everything went upside down with it. Avocados sizzled on burners everywhere, egg yoke dripped into the deepest darkest parts of the mean cooking machine, onion bits fell to the floor all slimy and slow in whisked grossness…I mean it was a real disaster. Mom Squad heard my war cry and calmly came to the rescue. She assessed the scene, turned off the burners, and tried to scoop up the remains of my failure…it was shameful.
I had toast instead.