Domestic Goddess

It should be noted I am risking my marriage by posting this, but here it goes. I bring very little to our household. I sincerely hope Husband does not read this post, he may realize how little I actually bring to our marriage and that he can do far better. Husband takes care of all the grocery shopping, cooking, laundry, diapers, hooking up our rig, the list goes on. I do take care of chores, but less high-profile tasks like cleaning, sarcasm and making the humans. To be fair I do make all the food for one member of our family completely from scratch, but I’m not bragging. I am aware of how incredibly lucky I am, but as you will soon find out it’s really in everyone’s best interest that I do not cook.
This week Husband and Tiny Human were sick so I decide it’s high time to step up and do basic good partner tasks. A sick husband and baby are a pain no matter your lifestyle, it’s magnified when you live on the road. I tuck in my sick babies and tell them I will take care of dinner. Husband, clearly panicking, tells me to just get a pizza. Phew, pressure is off, anyone can warm a pizza. With no take out options and minimal resources near our rural campsite I decide to journey into the nearest town to The Walmart to get some supplies. I pick up a preassembled pizza, salad and hot dogs (as backup) and journey back.

I turn the oven on and get my pizza out of it’s cellophane wrapping. High on the pride I have from my masterful meal I open the oven only to realize it is not on…. turns out you have to light it. Alright, minor setback, I still got this. With the oven now really on I assemble the bagged salad to kill time. The smell of new oven stench fills the fifth wheel and I know it’s time to pop dinner in the oven. Crushing it! I set my phone timer for 17 minutes as advised by the artisan pizza packaging. Just as I begin to wonder why I don’t bless my family with more of my culinary skills I smell burning. I open the oven to find our lovely dinner completely burnt to a crisp. Oops! Well, this is why I bought backup hot dogs. You know in case I screw up my take and bake pizza. Husband quickly points out that pizza is most people’s “backup” dinner plan. Eh, I’m not most people. I chalk it off to the new oven.

I whip my backup hotdogs out of the fridge throw them in the pan and get to cookin’. This is real cooking now. I have to actually roll the pan around to evenly heat our hotdogs. Look at these beauties, perfectly toasted on all four sides. I get buns out and plop our dogs on in. I give Husband his meal, prepared with love, and watch as he enjoys. Two bites in he starts cracking up. His coal miner cough really laying it on thick. I ask him what’s so funny. He kindly points out that it is impressive that I can screw up TWO prepared meals. TWO!! WHAT?! I can make a damn hotdog kind sir. I take a bite and realize, I in fact cannot. Unless of course you like your hotdogs toasted on the outside, ice cold on the inside. Husband, filled up on cold/warm hotdog and cough syrup, goes to bed and I eat my feelings in the form of an ice cream sandwich.

Husband, if you read this, never leave me! I will die from starvation or food poisoning.

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