Because the Kitchen Provides Endless Laughs at My Expense

So, last night I invited Brother Robby over for dinner. Brother Robby is always good for a laugh, and he shovels food like a trash compacter, eliminating the need for Tupperwared leftovers that inevitably go bad in my fridge because Husband does not so much eat leftovers. Coincidentally, Brother Robby is also highly skilled at the art of "sister, this is so good!" and "sister, you are so pretty and talented!", which makes him an extraordinary dinner guest on nights when I'm trying something new.

As I'm in the midst of preparing the something new, I'm elbow deep in cilantro, garlic, red peppers, and various cooking paraphernalia. If you have to be elbow deep in something, I suppose good food and fabulous kitchen essentials you got for free at various wedding showers are a good option. However, my apartment kitchen has about two square feet of counter space, making food preparation, at times, a wee bit difficult. [Also, my apartment kitchen's air circulation is a bit nonexistent, so turning on even one burner requires that I change into a tank top and shorts to even stand in there.] So, I'm sweatily plugging along with my chopping and sauteeing and such, all the while tossing dishes I am finished with in the sink. [I'm a clean-as-I-go kind of gal. I don't like big messes. They make me nervous. What if my mother walked in unexpectedly? What if my mother-in-law walked in unexpectedly?] Unfortunately, the sink filled up almost immediately, and when I opened the dishwasher to transfer the various measuring cups and cutting boards into it, I realized it was already full of clean dishes.

Now, anyone who knows me well knows how I feel about cooking. I've chronicled my nuerosis in detail. I am still learning, and the thought of something being inedible makes me feel like a failure. Isn't that my one job?! To keep Husband nourished?! And sleeping on clean sheets?!

In short, the stress of making something new coupled with the heat of two burners and the slightly smoky smell of sauteeing fish was already making me feel overheated and panicky. The addition of my inability to clean up my mess due to the dishwasher already full of clean dishes just about PUSHED ME OVER THE EDGE.

Husband and Brother Robby were at this point looking at something on Husband's computer, and as much as I hated to disrupt their manly bonding, if I didn't call for reinforcements, I might end up in the fetal position on my kitchen floor. Stammering, I decided to ask Husband if he would unload the dishes and perform a sink-clearing, mess-eliminating miracle.

"Ummmm... babe? Not necessarily right now, because I mean, you look busy right now, but maybe sometime in the next few minutes... I mean, whenever its convenient for you---"

Opening the dishwasher, trying not to laugh at my OCD, and appearing to me somewhat like Superman right before he sweeps Lois into his arms and soars high above danger, stress, and kitchen messes, he says, offhandedly, "I know what you mean."

Pretty and telepathic?

If not for Brother Robby's presence, I might not have finished dinner last night at all.