Home cookin'

For the record, someone in my house forgot to take out the recycling. Not cool. Get back here and do it. The paper and plastic are piling up and we can't afford the extra space. Okay, we all know that I'm the perpetrator here, but if anybody else would like to empty the blue bins under the sink I won't tell them no. Hello? Honestly, how is there an echo out here in cyber space?

If our hole of an apartment wasn't small enough already, we have a room that I try to avoid, minimizing my living quarters even more. That blasted kitchen. I don't, I can't and I won't cook. I'm one of those people that can't make anything to save her life, but I can do one of two things: make a dinner reservation, or make a call for delivery. This post is prompted by Boyfriend slaving away in the kitchen, making several delicious things. There is something to be said about having one's own personal red seal chef at home. Dinner tonight: shrimp-stuffed mushroom caps, lobster and prawns, asparagus and rice. Eat your hearts out ladies. I mantrapped me a good'un. My only job, while he slaves away in the room I know nothing of, is to stay out of the way. Done and done. I didn't exactly do nothing to get kicked out of the kitchen though. There have been a few instances that led to my banishment...

The first and foremost incident would be during our courtship. Yes, we're calling it our courtship. It was that time in the beginning of our relationship that he was suing me for harassment. Don't worry, after the settlement we made it work in spite of everything. Anyhow, where was I...? Right, back during the initial phases of mantrapping. I decided to be sugary sweet and domestic to prove that yes, one day, I had the capacity to make a good live-in ______ (I'll let you fill in the blank here with any noun you like, it's like a game show you can play at home). I decided to make breakfast for Boyfriend, thinking breakfast was something that one cannot screw up. Prepare for a great surprise, I did not pour him a bowl of cereal. I had eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns and toast on the go. Have I mentioned that I have no business in the kitchen? If I recall correctly, the only thing that came out right was the toast. The rest of the slop was overdone, underdone, and in the case of the sausages both overdone and underdone. I'm not domestic, this is no surprise. I came with a warning label telling Boyfriend that I was a defective _______ (You can use the same noun as before, or fill in another one. It's fun for the whole family! Well, maybe not. I might be overselling it.) In a moment of poetic sincerity after Boyfriend has managed a few bites, he puts his plate down, pulls me into a hug and says, This will be my job. He may or may not have eyed his partially-eaten plate of breakfast slop with contempt.

Boyfriend insists that he doesn't remember this, but without sounding too cruel this is my explanation thanks to one Mr. Billy Joel: Only the good die young. If Boyfriend is still here and not a zombie that means he is neither good nor young. The mind deteriorates as one ages. Point me. Sorry Boyfriend. Blame Billy Joel, he's my copilot on this one.

The second kitchen incident involved me being left alone for a week once when Boyfriend flew to the other side of the country to visit his kinfolk. This was the point in our relationship when he knew how helpless I was in the kitchen, so before he left, he offered to make me some dinners to heat up in his absence. This is by no means an exaggeration. I said no because I'm a big girl that can feed myself (not big as in obese, as I've said before, rubenesque women aren't fond of me). But what we both didn't know is that I was lying. He left, and one night while he was away I thought, I'm going to go into that freaky room where we keep the fridge and rustle me up some grub... from a can. I found some soup in the cupboard and figured I couldn't mess that up. The good news is that I didn't mess it up. That may or may not have to do with my inability to figure out Boyfriend's can opener. It's Schrodinger's cat all over again, until we open the can and find out the result, I both have and don't have the ability to make the can of soup.

It just so happens that while I'm wrestling with this can opener, Boyfriend is at his sister's house talking about how I fare as a cook in comparison to Boyfriend.

There's no comparison. I do all the cooking.
Boyfriend's sister asks a skeptical question, something like, "Really?"

At this point, my frantic text comes in, and all Boyfriend has to do is turn his phone toward his sister and let her read my moronic words:

I can't figure out how to use your can opener.

Yes. I got so angry and annoyed with this everyday kitchen device I text Boyfriend asking for help. If I could've, there would be smoke signals puffing out S.O.S. in my great distress. Believe me, I tried everything to get that thing to work, this included using a knife as a hammer to try to beat my way into that can of vegetable noodle. Boyfriend's sister, if you're reading this, I'm not kitchen smart but I make up for it with street smarts. Okay, no that's a lie. My street smarts rival my kitchen smarts, but... I have to be smart in another way that I haven't figured out yet. The point is eventually I learned how to use that thing (and boy, was I waaaaaaay off), but that wasn't until long after the chinese take-out arrived. And might I say thank god I live in a world where I don't have to hunt and gather my own food. Darwinism would've overtaken me much sooner.

The moral of this post is this: Ladies, for all of your shortcomings, there is a man out there who will make sure all of your basic needs are met. Mantrap him as soon as you possibly can and lock him down. If it weren't for Boyfriend I would be emaciated and/or dead. For this, Boyfriend, I thank you. For other things I curse you, but this isn't one of those postings. You're pretty. Man-pretty if that's a better compliment.

Time for tea,

K

Shorts are to Boyfriend as ________ is to me

I'm just going to come right out and say it: I miss being wooed. And for all those that ventured a guess, we would have accepted almost any "s" word for the blank in the title: shoes, shopping, stalking... but the absolute right answer here is Starbucks. The similarity is that both shorts and Starbucks are paramount to our individual lifestyles and both tie into the relationship of the woo-er and the woo-ee (who, for those of you who can surprisingly follow my train of thought here, are the caterpillars Boyfriend and I used to be before we evolved into the brilliant butterflies we are now). I'm quite sure Boyfriend will resent being likened in any way to a butterfly, so we'll say he's evolved into... I dunno... something masculine... a cement truck. A caterpillar to a cement truck. I'm aware that the logic is flawed. Moving on from this car crash of a paragraph.

Back to being wooed. I miss it, and I'm sure that all the attached folks out there do too. So much effort gets put out there, and things that drive you crazy about a person now you thought were adorable way back when. Ah, the ignorance. There is nothing like the rush of trying to hide certain aspects about yourself because you think somebody will like you better for it. Don't judge us, you've all done it too... the getting up through the night to brush your teeth so you wake up with fresh breath, stealing insightful opinions from experts on current events in order to sound smart during conversation in spite of not knowing what you're saying, we've all done something to this effect. Don't shake your head no, you're only lying to yourself. I like to think of this as part of Project Mantrap. It involves any sneaky behaviour a girl employs to get her man. I finally caught one I haven't wanted to throw back yet.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned, but Boyfriend and I began dating while we still lived in different cities. This made it easier to hide our vices: Boyfriend lives in shorts year-round and I have a palate for pricey coffees... daily. No big deal. I only hide it in the beginning because Boyfriend is a huge Tim Horton's fan -- it's his place of worship if a sports bar is closed. Tim's coffee is a close second to beer for him... that's a collosal compliment to their product. Therein lies the problem though, with our very seperate coffee preferences it's like West Side Story and a rumble could erupt between us broadway-style. Boyfriend doesn't sing or dance so this outccome would be worse than some kind of ancient torture device. I have to be on his side here (the initial stages of Project Mantrap), so when I fly in to visit him, we go to Tim Horton's all the freaking time to get our caffeine fix. Cool (you can't hear it or read it, but insert sarcastic tone here). All I'm saying is that it's alright, but seriously, very few hot drinks can trump a cinnamon dolce latte. Yuh huh, it's a proven fact.

While I hide my Starbucks appreciation, Boyfriend hides his legs inside pants for my first visits out to see him. It's a non-issue in the warmer months, but November/December/January? Really? It is later I find out that this is a preventative measure he has taken against my mocking because he knows the judgement I would lay on him if I arrived in winter to see him in shorts (this by no means is the same as Project Mantrap, he was simply trying to spare his ego). His reasoning? He's an east-coast boy that grew up with freezing winters with snow so deep it'd cover your house. I've never been that far east, but who am I to call him a liar? All I'm saying is that winter has a dress code. Put some damn pants on. Side note: You know the wooing stage is over when you use the phrase "Put some damn pants on". Le damn.

One day when I'm visiting him, he and I walk by the Starbucks near his house. I suppose I didn't do a very good job hiding my interest when my face glued to their window and I pressed my palms on the cool glass to stare at the baristas inside making delicious drinks.

You want a coffee?
Uh, sure. We're going to walk by the Tim Horton's anyways, right?
Maybe we should get a drink here. Boyfriend motions to the window we've stopped in front of.
OKAY!

Yelling this in his face didn't do much for the ambivalence I was trying to project, but who cares? The man is in the trap. He's coming around to what I like.

Have you ever seen the face of somebody that's never been to a Starbucks before? They look at the beverage board on the wall and realize, "oh crap I don't know what any of this says." Wish I had my camera, Boyfriend was so overwhelmed. You would think he was trying to read Swahili. He's charming. I think he just goes to Tim Horton's because he hasn't learned the Starbucks language. In one of my college classes we talked about how if you don't like something, it's because you don't understand it. Boyfriend understood nothing here, ipso facto, his distaste was quite obvious. I go to the counter and order my cinnamon dolce latte.

Boyfriend panics, then utters, I'll have the same.

Answer me this, why don't boys like to ask questions? He could've gotten something that he would have liked that way. The girl rings in our order and it comes to $9 plus change.

Ten dollars? Mass confusion which prompts Boyfriend to look at the girl and earnestly ask, Is there Baileys in that coffee?

She gets uncomfortable, says no, and gives him a free cookie to smooth things over. It seems to appease him. We get our drinks and resume our walk.

You want this? Boyfriend extends the paper bag with the cookie inside.
Ginger? Not at all.
Me either.

He tosses the bag into the next garbage bin we pass. It wasn't about the cookie, Boyfriend just wanted to get something other than two drinks for his ten dollars. He's like a little old man when it comes to the value of a dollar. It drives me insane, but now that we live together the man has gotten us some great deals.

The moral here is this: After Project Mantrap is successful and he becomes yours through your intricate system of lies, feel free to drop the pretense. Boyfriend pretends that I don't "waste" money on expensive coffee drinks, and I don't berate him for wearing shorts in February. This entry wasn't about Boyfriend's shorts by the way, I just feel that if I admit things about myself, I should drag him in with me. Fair trade. You just have to gradually ease into being yourself, and before he realizes that you aren't the person he started dating three years ago, he's already locked in. Mantrapped!

Time for tea,

K