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Wednesday. I’m here with my daughter. She didn’t feel well yesterday so she stayed with me and didn’t go to school. We had a girls night in and took a bath together. Now we are having breakfast in the living room while watching cartoons. She’s happy with so little and I don’t understand why sometimes I feel like she’s so demanding. I guess she needs some extra attention because she’s the only girl.

The birthday dinner was fine. I guess the lasagna thing was nice because it was gone in minutes. Nobody noticed the lack of layers, and if they did, nobody complained.
At one point the man asked why I prepared the lasagna using round pans:
“I finished the other ones”
“OK”. He didn’t dare to say anything else.

After my reshaping, both pans fit in the oven nicely. Double win.

The cinnamon rolls cake was nice too. Even when I discovered I didn’t have brown sugar and I used plain sugar and even after mistaking the flour for sugar and adding some to the cinnamon mix. I managed to remove some of it but not all and luckily the taste wasn’t compromised.

The good part was that I was laughing while preparing it and smiled all the time while we were having dinner just remembering my cooking mishaps.
Who am I kidding… I suck!!

That’s a cinnamon rolls cake. It’s round. I even put a candle on top to make it look more like a birthday cake.

Many years ago, before the man became my boyfriend, I offered to cook for him. Since I’m vegetarian, I’m always dubious about preparing meat because I don’t try it while it’s cooking and I’m always afraid it’s raw so I mostly overcook it and let it dry.
So I chose to prepare chicken for him because I thought that among all the meat, chicken was the easiest.
Hell I was wrong!! I served the chicken and it was almost saying: “Kikirikiiii!” (That’s Spanish talk for chickens… I have no idea how that’s in English).
So I took the raw chicken and put it back in the pan to cook a bit more. I didn’t want to cut it open because I wanted it to look nice, but after a while, I didn’t give a shit and cut it into chunks thinking at my grandmother. She always tells me: “You get a man through his stomach”. So my though at the time was: “I’m fu&$ed up, this will never work”. But then, it did work for some time. But not forever.
And the man always remembers that the first meal I cooked for him was raw chicken.

And if I keep thinking, my grandfather left my grandmother… And she can cook!! Really can cook. Not like me that my speciality is trying to get the less dishes dirty and to do it in the less time possible. For some reason, I believe that MY rice can be cooked in less than 20 minutes.

Conclusion: no more cooking will be used to pick up men. From now on, I’ll turn into sexy lingerie.

~ by DotedOn on February 4, 2015.