Sunday, March 6, 2011

Raw Worries


To understand this story it's important to know two things about my domestic tendencies: (1) I don’t refuse to touch raw meat, but I usually do my best to maneuver it into the pan without having to actually make contact. (2) I hate doing the dishes (yes, WAAAY more than I dislike raw meat).

Tonight Kyle generously promised to take care of the pile of dishes in our sink if I did the cooking. He even offered to move the ground beef into the pan for me, but I turned down his offer since I figured I was already coming out way ahead in the trade. We didn't need all of the meat, so I peeled off the plastic wrap halfway and prepared to flip the exposed half into the pan – no touching necessary, just the way I like it. Unfortunately, all that came out at first was blood, which was kind of disgusting (I feel myself gravitating towards vegetarianism as I type this, actually). I controlled my gag reflex and went over to the trash can, planning to drain out the blood. I tilted the container a little…and a little more… I assume everyone but myself-a-few-hours-ago could figure out what was going to happen next. With a horrible flop, more than half of the meat slid straight into the trash can. Kyle didn’t even get upset, but I felt angry and idiotic and literally sick to my stomach. 

Why didn't I use a big spoon or put the plastic wrap back on or just touch the stupid meat!?!

It bothered me so much because I do this all the time. Well, okay, I’ve never thrown expensive meat into the trash before, but I always seem to be spilling liquids or dropping silverware or injuring myself.  I take risky shortcuts. I lose focus. I become incredibly klutzy whenever I’m not on a sports field. I’m a danger to myself and to the food, really. Combine that with my hatred of cleaning and my ineptitude with most home repairs, and I make a VERY poor housewife. 

And that’s okay now, because I’m not a housewife – I’m running around doing three part-time jobs – and I never really wanted to be one. But I always complain that the jobs keep me from what I really want to do in life, which is to write. So if life presented me with the opportunity to quit or downsize those jobs and stay home and write? I would jump at the chance. But unless that writing was making us enough money to turn Kyle into a trophy husband, I’d also have to be the one in charge of most tasks around the house. It’s a terrifying thought. 

And don’t even ask me about taking care of those incredibly fragile baby things. Even though I theoretically want some eventually, I get shaky just thinking about them under my klutzy, distracted care. 

Obviously I’m not giving up my full-time writer dream because of some mishandled raw meat. But it does give me motivation to do a few things:
  • Put more effort into really making writing work while I still have other jobs, so that I don't start to believe that my dream will only happen if I'm a housewife.
  • Research more lucrative careers for myself so that Kyle could work part-time and become the house husband. (Trust me, he'd be much better at it.)
  • Become less of a klutzy idiot before I have children.
  • Consider writing a story about an unwilling and inept housewife so that I can really use this material.

4 comments:

  1. OH MY GOODNESS. I've found a kindred spirit. My first child is due in June, and I've often had little visions pop into my head of me dropping the baby at some terrible time.

    On top of that, when women are pregnant, they have an increased amount of relaxin released into their bodies to loosen up their muscles for childbirth. This results in butterfingers. Put additional hormones on top of that to give you "pregnant brain" (something like a mix between amnesia and PMS), and the result is not exactly reassuring.

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  2. Also, raptor impressions?

    ...I am famous in my family for doing raptor impressions.

    I had no idea there was another human being who valued this unique skill.

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  3. A fellow raptor impressionist!?! <>

    My husband and I actually became so obsessed with raptor impressions that I decided to walk down the aisle to the Jurassic Park theme on organ (Though I didn't walk like a raptor, and my maid of honor sadly refused to do her amazing vocal raptor impression.)

    Also, I love that you were having a kindred spirit moment on my blog (I'm going to focus on the raptor impressions one instead of the baby dropping one so that I don't start freaking out in a bad way instead of a good way) at pretty much the same time that I was having one on your blog about Gattaca and other amazing things.

    YAY!

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  4. The phrase "random gleeful noises" was inside of those carrots in the first line, by the way, but apparently Blogger thought I was trying to write something in html. Silly Blogger.

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