I’ve always made a bit of a joke about not cooking. My dad and my brother, and my best friends all make that same joke. But it wasn’t until I received a gas bill for 40c that I realised exactly how slack I am in the kitchen.
It’s not that I can’t cook. I can. I just prefer not to. This is partly to do with the fact that, despite my creativity with a pen or a sewing machine, I am completely lacking in the ability to decide on something to cook. The other part of the reason is that I am, to my detriment, ridiculously lazy. I know, it’s a terrible trait. But I get home, after spending my entire day in a noisy shopping centre, surrounded by screaming children and dealing with jerk customers, and the last thing I want to do is stress myself out in the kitchen.
My best friend loves to cook. He often tells me how he finds it calming. I’m the exact opposite. The minute I set foot in my kitchen, I get overwhelmed and stressed out and then nothing goes the way I planned. And, without word of a lie, I’ve cooked a whole bunch of times in the new house and not once have I managed to do so without setting off the smoke alarm. I guarantee my neighbours are always fully aware of every time I cook.
Still, my unwillingness to cook, and lack of any great ability in the kitchen does have a few merits. Firstly, I go around to my dad’s house most nights a week for dinner and that means I still get to chill and watch movies with him. Secondly, don’t make a lot of dishes! And then there’s that 40c gas bill. (honestly, how the hell does one get a gas bill that small?!)
I would make a terrible housewife. Sure, I can clean like a boss and I bake pretty well but when it comes to cooking? Sorry, future partner (pffft!), but you’re shit out of luck!