About a year ago, I had just signed on to be a Pampered Chef consultant. I was thrilled at the prospect of making some extra money (because we all know how great teachers get paid), and I was desperately eager to learn how to cook in time for my first show.

It was a Sunday night. Amazing Race was on- my favorite show- and I was ready for my frozen pizza. Yum. Despite the fact that I had begun Pampered Chef, I hadn’t actually prepared myself for real cooking yet. I stuck the frozen pizza on a cookie sheet and baked it. No problem. Eight minutes later, I had a truly gourmet meal ready to eat. My new silicone pot holders worked wonders getting that cookie sheet out of the oven. My hands emerged unscathed as I reached for the hot metal pan, so I was thrilled with the product. (It does not take much to impress me.)

So anyway, I then put the pot holders on the range (because they also function as trivets) and strategically placed the cookie sheet on top. I cut myself the perfect slice, grabbed a glass of water, and went into the living room to watch my show.

It was a great evening. I had my pizza-a perfect corner piece with a perfect balance of burnt cheese and soft crust- and a warm fire in the fireplace…until I realized we didn’t HAVE a fire going in the fireplace. I caught the reflection of fire in the glass, and I was completely perplexed. Where is that fire coming from? Oh…the KITCHEN!

I ran into the kitchen to see flames completely engulfing the cooking sheet and licking the microwave above the oven. I quickly assessed the situation, while finishing the bite in my mouth. I grabbed another pot holder and managed to grab the cookie sheet and dump it in the sink. My two new Pampered Chef silicone pot holders/ trivets were on fire on top of two burners on HI. Apparently, as I took the pizza out of the oven, I had bumped into the knobs on the oven and turned two burners on HI. Next, I did the only thing I could think of. I screamed.

My husband came running into the kitchen, looked at me, and belted, “Well…PUT IT OUT!” My kitchen looked like a scene from the movie SIGNS. Half empty glasses of water strategically placed on every countertop. So, I grabbed the measuring cup of water, filled to about 1/4 cup, and dumped it on the stove. One, I realize that you’re not supposed to use water when putting out the fire on your stove. Two, the meager amount of water in the cup was equivalent to spitting on it, so nothing happened. I looked at my husband with desperation in my eyes. What do I do?

Like a true man, he took my elegant, white, waffle-weave dish towel from Crate & Barrel, and starts wacking away at the fire. We then had five pieces of burning silicone pot holders on the linoleum flour. He proceeded to wack at and stomp on the pieces, until nothing was left but ash. When our eyes reconnected, I could see what he so desperately wanted to say out loud: “You have got to be kidding.”

Mount Vesuvius had evidently erupted in our kitchen. There was a fine layer of ash on every appliance, in every drawer, in every crack. Then I noticed with horror what remained on my range. Not only was there ash, but there some sort of liquid oozing down the side and dripping into the crevices. Now I started to panic. The silicone had melted. Our oven was one year old, and I ruined it. I freaked out and started whining to my husband. I thought there was no way I was sleeping in the bed when my husband discovered that I was the reason we were going to have to get a new oven. I expressed my concern and waited through the long pause that followed.

“Erin,” he said calmly, “that liquid is the water you poured on it.”

“Oh.”

We kept the oven.

So, anyone who knows me will laugh at the fact that I’m blogging right now. I’m very open about the fact that I’m convinced the AntiChrist will be a robot of some sort. I think technology is taking over the world, and I’m afraid that my child will become a Cyborg. With that being said, I realize the hypocrisy in this site. However, seeing as how no one knows how to read print anymore, I figured I might as well sell my soul and succomb to the technology gods, so that someone will read it.

I write because I’m a self-proclaimed clutz, and events happen to me all the time that make me think I actually live in a sitcom. Growing up, I used to think there were hidden cameras all around me and that I actually was on t.v. somewhere (this was indeed before I read 1984 or saw The Truman Show). Anyway, while I don’t know that Big Brother is following me, I find that my life plays out as if it were on t.v.

Specifically, my cooking experiences play out like vignettes of the “I Love Lucy” show, and it began when I got married nearly four years ago. Since then, I have burnt and dropped food, ignited my kitchen, and sustained various injuries all over my body from items I have dropped or flung on myself. The fact that I am a Pampered Chef consultant remains a mystery to both my husband and myself, and I’m simply waiting for someone to tell me to stop before I actually kill myself from cooking.

So- if you can’t cook or lack a tv and would like the enjoyment of a sitcom, read on, and enjoy the farce my life has become. You may find a few other surprise topics tucked in here and there…

Enjoy.