Mystery Meat

I practically fell out of my chair laughing when I came across this picture because it is very similar to what I saw. It's almost like the artist himself drew this specially for me.

Yesterday I had to run a few errands and it took a bit longer than I thought. I called my husband and told him I was running a tad behind and that dinner would be delayed. All I can say is, OH MY GOODNESS!!! Y'all, I knew something was wrong the minute I opened the door that leads from the garage directly smack into our kitchen. The house was smokey and the kitchen counters were layered with cooking powders and sauces. There stood my husband beaming from ear to ear like a little kid. He had attempted to make dinner.

Now I should be very thankful because I hear a lot of women complain that their husbands don't help enough around the house. However, this was not what I wanted to come home to after a full day on my feet and fighting traffic. It was rather cute how he set the table, silverware completely disorganized, paper napkins from our paper towel rack, and mismatching plastic cups he dug out of the miscellaneous section of my pantry.

I didn't know where to begin so I set my bags on the living room floor because my counters were a complete mess. I smiled and pretended to be happily surprised. Well, I was surprised alright but I couldn't go as to say I was actually happy about what I walked in on. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat and quickly began showing off as though he was filming his own cooking show on the Food Network Channel. At this point I was gritting my teeth as I examined the sorry state of my beloved pots and pans. I didn't know if I should cry, run, or start screaming. Confused by the overwhelming mixed of emotions I stood there in complete silence with a silly grin utterly paralyzed.

Finally, after he explained the mystery meat was teriyaki chicken (his own homemade sauce), I picked up my heirloom silver fork from the charcoaled skillet. Tears were stinging my eyes but I choked them back, "honey, where did you get this fork?" He looked bewildered as to why I was asking such an odd question. He told me he found it in that box I have sitting on the large side table in the dining room. He was referring to my silverware chest that holds all of my antique cutlery on top of our buffet. This fork was part of the collection handed down from my grandmother. I nodded slowly ready to scream my head off but looking at how proud he was over his culenary masterpiece I refrained myself. Instead I told him he had done enough (damage) and asked him to pick out some dinner music while I prepared a salad to go along with dinner.

I scraped the poor pitiful burnt meat (lumps and all) from the skillet. Then tried to fight the rice out of the pot. I slid the serving platter and bowl onto the table. It was a total disaster. Then I looked across the table at my husband eagerly waiting to try his teriyaki chicken. It made me laugh as he wrestled with cutting the first peice. Do you remember Clark Griswold on Christmas Vacation eating that burnt turkey that his sister-in-law made? It was sort of like that. He leaned across the table and asked, "How's yours? It's not too dry is it?" I burst out in laughter and looked at him, "Seriously? Hon, you know how much I love jerky but let's leave that to the professionals." He too giggled and we decided to go out for dinner. Once our waitor delivered our meal I leaned over to my husband and begged him to promise me to stay out of my kitchen when I'm gone.