Wednesday, October 25, 2006  12:59 AM
The undomestic goddess
I often wish I was abit more domesticated.
It's a huge disadvantage, and I'm not just talking about marriage prospects here. It's a general thing, especially when I feel like killing myself every time I see a stain on my white clothing just because I was the one who put it in the washing machine.
And the worst part is, I don't even know why.
I know I don't outwardly express this, but I do admire people who can cook, sew, iron and run a household without any glitches. I mean, how is that humanly possible?
Let's review my disasters over the years.
During home economic lessons in secondary school, I often tried to do the stuff that would prevent my partner and I from dropping from an A to a C. For example, I chopped things up, did the washing of dishes and I was the official taster. I remember once we had to cook fish head curry or something - and the thought of cleaning the insides of the fish grossed me out so much I was thinking of ways and means to escape the class. Thank God for my wonderful, ever so efficient partner, Amanda, who did everything with such meticulous precision. She did the entire cleaning of the fish so well I wanted to applaud. When it came to cutting sandwiches, she cut it up in neat squares that our teacher gave us an A. If she had left it to me, there would be finger dents on the bread.
And who hasn't heard of how I sent my vest to the tailor in Secondary 2? Well, my mom can't sew, my grandma doesn't live with me and we don't even have a sewing machine in the house. The vest was halfway done, and it was due the next day. I rushed down to the tailor, paid them $3 and they had it completed in like 15 minutes. I got a B in the end, because I did half of it myself.
The last time I made cookies, they were almost destroyed because we (this other person is also a complete idiot - jan, this means you - at baking 101) did not anticipate that the cookies would EXPAND in the oven, and so we placed them too close together and of course, they stuck together and we had to carefully pry them apart. And these were Betty Crocker cookies! Betty must be rolling over in her grave right now. Or if she isn't dead, having a heart attack.
Of course, there's the mysterious stains that appear on my white clothing every time I wash them. And also that time when I got scolded for putting softener and detergent together in the washing machine. Was I supposed to know that there were two separate compartments?
I can cook spaghetti though, and instant noodles and anything that just requires frying. Rice isn't a problem too, on a good day. But the first time I cooked spaghetti, I forgot to put salt in the sauce and it was absolutely tasteless. I remember trying to convince myself that whatever I cooked was the way spaghetti was supposed to taste like. I only concluded the salt thing, like, two days later.
Then there's microwave ovens. I always hear these explosion-like sounds now and then when I pop something in. Without a doubt, I get really scared that I'm going to blow the house up. So I gingerly turn the knob off, and swear never to use the microwave again. That promise lasts until the next time I need to make something to eat, because I cannot cook anything else.
Maybe I should make it a point these holidays to pick up cooking from my grandma. And yes, that's also what I say to myself every single year.
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