By: Christine McFarlane
My stomach grumbles, my head feels foggy, and it’s the first time that I have ever cooked.
The task is simple. I have to boil some noodles and stir in some sauce. It’s only supposed to take me ten minutes but instead it takes me twenty.
I shuffle over to the kitchen, and though I read the instructions on how to cook these noodles, my thoughts are scattered and foggy. I’m not all there, I’m lost in thinking about what tv show I am going to watch next.
I pull out a pot, put it under the kitchen faucet and fill it with water. I dump in the noodles, put the pot on the stove, turn on the heating element and promptly leave the kitchen. Who knows what the hell was going through my head, because the instructions say- only ten minutes is needed to cook these noodles, and I leave the kitchen as if its going to take an hour for these noodles to boil.
Five minutes later, the smoke alarm goes off- BEEP…BEEP and in a race to stop the shrill alarm- I stumble and almost trip over the fan that is conveniently placed between the short distance from my living room to my kitchen. You see, I live in a one-room apartment, and there’s not much room to move around.
I pull the pot off the stove and tell myself
“ Damn! There goes another dinner, down the drain.”
Before I can scrape the noodles from the pot, I have to grab my kitchen chair and drag it to where my smoke alarm is. I hop on the chair, and stretch as much as my 5 foot 1 frame can stretch and in the process of turning off the alarm, knock its cover off onto the floor. Swearing under my breath, I scramble to grab the alarm cover, and then hop back up and put it back up where it belongs.
I'm sweating at this sudden workout, and I have to laugh because it reminds me of those commercials you see at 3 in the morning-those ladies in ridiculous tights, with their taut abs and sinewy arms, doing their step aerobics- STEP UP...STEP DOWN, all while disco music blares.
I shake my head and get back to the task at hand-my cooking. After pulling my chair back to my kitchen table, I cross over to my stove once more. I scrape the burnt noodles from the pot into my garbage, and begin all over again.
Before I can scrape the noodles from the pot, I have to grab my kitchen chair and drag it to where my smoke alarm is. I hop on the chair, and stretch as much as my 5 foot 1 frame can stretch and in the process of turning off the alarm, knock its cover off onto the floor. Swearing under my breath, I scramble to grab the alarm cover, and then hop back up and put it back up where it belongs.
I'm sweating at this sudden workout, and I have to laugh because it reminds me of those commercials you see at 3 in the morning-those ladies in ridiculous tights, with their taut abs and sinewy arms, doing their step aerobics- STEP UP...STEP DOWN, all while disco music blares.
I shake my head and get back to the task at hand-my cooking. After pulling my chair back to my kitchen table, I cross over to my stove once more. I scrape the burnt noodles from the pot into my garbage, and begin all over again.
This time, I don’t leave my kitchen, and success in my first cooking lesson comes shortly afterwards. Mmmm. noodles.. You gotta love those noodles!
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