I’m cooking a lot.
Extraordinarily a lot for me.
There are some gigantic fails where we laugh and choke it down by adding fresh bananas on top and try to eat one slice of banana with every bite of gluey-gritty-gruel. He tells me I’m cheating by eating banana bites in between but ‘at least it’s healthy’ and besides, there’s no more time to make something else before he leaves for work.
But I have an 88.3 1/2 percent success rate which seems pretty good. It feels creative and healing and his face lights up when he sees a new dish and it makes my little old heart smile. And when it’s inedible, the dogs are very-very-very happy and then they fart while we’re watching the movie and blow out the whole room so we keep the incense burning.
And we eat apples and peanut butter for dinner.
And when peanut butter is on my grocery list too often, I resort back to something I cooked before that I know turned out really good.
I take the dogs out twice a day so they can poop in the hills and we don’t have my Pinterest recipe fails stinking up the yard. And the dogs smile at me while they poop and I watch them poop just like all people do, and it makes sense from our however-many-years of dogs and people watching each other’s backs throughout history. But I still think it’s weird. I mean, people have been friends with people for longer than that, but I don’t feel like I need to watch people smile at me while they’re pooping.
Maybe it’s because most people don’t smile while they’re pooping. Unless they’re looking at Facebook. Which everyone does. But pretty much everyone feels good after they poop, and then they’re smiling. Unless they poop at work.
Then they worry about someone else being in the bathroom while they’re pooping and see their shoes under the stall and know it was them pooping. And then they try to slip back into their cubicle without anyone noticing they were gone too long which means they were probably pooping.
Except the one guy who smiles and talks to everyone on his way to the bathroom at 9:16 every morning with his baby wipes and a book under his arm.
For sure no one wants to see that guy pooping. But good for him for owning it.
Practice-Makes-Progress and I’m shooting for an A- cooking grade by Christmas or maybe Easter.
And then it won’t be so bad if the dogs poop in the yard.
Except he’s the one who picks up all the yard poop every Monday night so the trash guy can collect it all on Tuesday morning. Maybe he shouldn’t be excited for my A- grade come Christmas or Easter if it means everyone poops in the yard.
Maybe he’d be just as happy with apples and peanut butter and incense.
And the dogs can eat my cooking and poop in the hills.