I Feel Snubbed

I don’t know how I missed this, but there is apparently one reality show I should have applied for last year.

Frankly, I am shocked that the casting directors did not come and hunt me down for this one.

If there is anything I excel at, it’s this:  Worst Cooks in America.

I read about it in the paper, and was immediately insulted that I had not been chosen for this series.  I raced to the computer to look up the website to find out more about the participants.  As I scanned the members of the teams, I became pretty confident that you couldn’t find a better worst cook than me.  Except for the lady who put her husband in the hospital with food poisoning.  She might give me some competition.  On the other hand, the only reason I haven’t added that misfortune to my resume could be because I have a smarter husband.

When I met my future husband, Cap’n Firepants, I was living off Ramen Noodle and Diet Coke.  I was a little intimidated by the fact that his mother was a nutritionist.  And, in the elder Firepants household, meals were a big deal.  BIG, BIG Deal.  Like slave half the morning in the kitchen over making lunch, then half the afternoon in the kitchen cleaning up lunch, then the other half of the afternoon making dinner, then the – well, you see where this is going.

I consoled myself with the knowledge that, at least the Cap’n knew how to cook.

I did try when we got married.  Got lots of recipe books, mostly bestowed upon me by in-laws.  Got subscriptions to Taste of Home and Southern Living – also, now that I think about it, gifted to me by the in-laws.  Hmm.  How did I not pick up on those subtle hints?

The true testament to my ineptitude in the kitchen was initiated by an incident in which I decided to pre-heat the oven, not realizing that something had dripped on the bottom during my last use. Apparently, a lot of something.   I turned the dial, and left the room.  Minutes later, the smoke alarm went off.  I ran into the kitchen, and there was smoke everywhere.  Our Golden Retriever, Mrs. P.I.B., who was only a year or two old, freaked out, racing around the room frantically panting while I shut off the oven, opened doors and windows, and grabbed a broom to beat the smoke away from the smoke alarm.

Yep, I hadn’t even started cooking anything that evening, technically, and still managed to almost kill us.

Here’s the kicker, though.  From then on, anytime I turned on a burner or the oven in the kitchen, Mrs. P.I.B. would back out of the room, tail between her legs, and hysterically pace near the front door the entire time I occupied the kitchen.

You know you’re a bad cook when even your dog won’t come in the kitchen if you’re anywhere near the stove.

Mrs. P.I.B. Running Away from My Home-cooked Meals


Posted on February 15, 2012, in Cap'n Firepants, Dogs, Family, Humor, Marriage, Mrs. P.I.B. and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 35 Comments.

  1. Your last sentence should be a plaque.
    Really really funny.

  2. That last sentence really needs to go on some sort of motivational poster or something. I’m sure it’s not that bad. I know how to make basic things like spaghetti and toast and I’m a master at cookies but you can’t live off cookies. or can you…

  3. I am glad you are not on that show. I watch it and laugh out loud wondering how some of the people could be so inept in the kitchen. I don’t want to laugh at you like that. Jackie wanted me to try out for the money. I can’t cook that bad. I would mess up and do something right.

  4. You think you’re bad? I was rejected by the casting director because they claimed my food “didn’t look like it was from this planet.”

  5. I would shrivel up and die if I couldn’t cook. I like to eat too much. And I like good food (er, no ramen noodles). If I lived near you, I’d come teach you how to cook and let your dog relax at mealtimes.

  6. Is it too late to audition? They’ve got to have another season!
    I’m learning to cook decently but DO NOT let me bake. It’s too technical for me and my addlpated brain forget basics like eggs…

  7. I’m a big fan of ramen noodles. Or mac and cheese from the box.
    We all rely on them, even if we can cook.
    And I finally took down the fire alarm because it went off constantly when I cooked.

    But I don’t burn things. I make them crispy.

  8. Very funny 🙂 Don’t worry, I can’t cook either! 🙂

  9. I can’t cook either, but I’ll take Milk-Bones from the box any day.

  10. Nice to know i am not the only one cooking challenged – if it wasn’t for my poor long suffering husband we would never eat.

    As far the the wife who put her husband in the hospital with her cooking, well – he shouldn’t have eaten it 🙂

  11. I luv your stories…I can relate to some of them…Your stories are funny and interesting. BTW I can’t cook either…:^)

  12. yeah. right there with ya on this one. it’s sad that my meals are measured by how many times the smoke alarm goes off. :o(

  13. The smoke alarm is my mortal enemy too. My husband said that he liked to cook before we got married. This was of course the reason I said yes. Unfortunately, here we are all these years later and he just has to suck it up and eat mac and cheese when I cook, or take us out… 😉

  14. I fell for that same line. Oh, yeah; he could cook; in his dreams. That’s the best pick up line of all!


  15. LOL!
    Poor Mrs. PIB! Your posts are tons of fun and we cant wait to read them each day!

    Your friends,
    The Collies and Chuck 🙂

  16. Oh, my gosh – funny last line! My husband and I watch that show – it’s one of the few ones we watch together, consistently. Those poor people. I don’t know how they do it – not the ineptness, but putting up with the judges/chefs who teach them. Oy, vey. But, let me tell you, if you ever are on the show in the future, I cant’ WAIT to read all about it on your blog!!!!!!

  17. I was not much of a cook, and don’t necessarily enjoy it- BUT I have become a little better in the last few years. I could have been on the show a few years ago!

  1. Pingback: I Accept A Smidgen of Responsibility « whatimeant2say

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: