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Like Martha Stewart.... But Trashy

Well, it's Sunday! Time for another masterful and life altering piece of writing that is sure to put me at the top of the New York Times must read list.... Did you buy that? Yaaaa, me neither.


A lot has happened since we checked in last week though! I passed my entrance exam for the writer's institute! Apparently I have a unique voice? Not sure if that is a compliment or a back hand. I'm gonna go with compliment because I need all the confidence I can get at the moment. So over the next 12-24 months I am going to be working away at developing a manuscript for publication. And the genre will likely surprise, or horrify, most of you. But more on that another time.... See what I did there? That was me trying to be cheeky.


Thank you all again for subscribing and reading each week! It really does make my day when I see a notification that another person has subscribed. It's awesome! I have also heard from numerous people that my dad is a crowd favourite! Well I got plenty of dad stories.... we have a tendency to get into trouble when we are together. Maybe he will need to be a recurring feature? Oh, the possibilities.


But enough chit chat, let's get to it!


So, I was frustrated with my spice cupboard a couple months ago. It was a complete mess. A mixture of bags and jars of different sizes and brands. Nothing was uniform. Every time I went to use something out of there the big vein in my forehead would start to pulse. And it was beginning to spill out onto the counter when I opened the door. Scott says that it's my fault it got that way because when you open the cupboard, chuck the garlic powder back in and whip the door closed before anything can fall out, this is bound to happen.


Meh. He says potato, I say if you like coming home to dinner you'll check that attitude at the door. Gosh, I should write a relationship advice column or something!


Anyways, I did the only rationale thing there is to do in that situation. Go to the store and buy a fancy spice organizer with 30 jars and transfer all of my different powders into it. Problem solved! And it was going really great until I went to label the jars and realized the organizer did not come with labels. And I don't have little labels in the house. But I am nothing if not 'easy going' and thought, 'well it doesn't matter anyways'. I am a master in the kitchen. I can smell the jars with powders that look similar (like garlic v onion powder) and know what it is. Who needs labels? Problem solved.


Cut to this week and I was making a mexi-rice pilaf type situation with rice, onions, peppers, cheese, chicken.... it was going to be really yummy. But it was missing something. So I decided to add some paprika. Because I have found that a little paprika fixes everything. Except panic attacks. Paprika does absolutely nothing for those. And I bet if you ran around with a jar of paprika crying and hyperventilating, people would probably cross the street to avoid you. So I guess there is an upside? But I wouldn't recommend it.


Anyways. I went through my jars and smelled the three red powders. I figured the one that smells like nothing would be the paprika. Right? It all made sense in the moment.


Unfortunately, the jar got away from me and I ended up putting in a tablespoon or two instead of a teaspoon. Not a problem. Add a bit more cheese to mellow everything out and it will be fine, right? I thought so.


Well let me tell you something, and you won't hear this often- I was wrong. That first bite was like eating pure fire. What I thought was paprika, might have been cayenne? It's difficult to say really. Tears immediately began to roll down my cheeks, and before I could stop Scott he popped a massive spoonful in his mouth.


His face immediately went red and he glared at me. His eyes saying simply, why?


We both raced to the fridge for milk and in between our gulps we had a 'heated' conversation.


Scott: What the hell happened?

Me: I think the paprika went bad.

Scott: That's not fucking paprika.

Me: It might have been cayenne? It's difficult to say really.

Scott: You can't be left alone to cook. This is the Pork Chop Incident all over again.

Me: Well that is just uncalled for. Stop hogging the milk!


The Pork Chop Incident. Umm, well.... I think it is safe to say that everyone has some poor decisions or miscalculations in their past. But in my defense, I was left alone with fire!


Maybe eight years ago or so, I was still living with my parents, and Scott was coming over for dinner. I can't quite remember why I was alone. I think mom had maybe slipped to town for something, dad and my brother were in the garage and Scott was on his way over. But me, being the angel I was, thought I'd get a head start on dinner. I prepped some sides, started the bbq and threw the pork chops on the grill. When I came inside I decided to make a quick salad while the pork chops were cooking. I turned the TV on, brought my cutting board to the table and began working away while watching The Big Bang Theory. And it was a really good episode. You know the one where Sheldon and Leonard try to get the box upstairs for Penny, but they can't. And Sheldon says, "Ahh gravity, thou art a heartless bitch". Ya that one!! As you can imagine, I was a little distracted.


So I am working away at the salad, and as the next episode comes on, I glance out the window.... Oh shit.


Now, I'm not great with measurements, but the flames engulfing the barbecue were at least six feet high and well above the eaves of the house. I remember being frozen in place and thinking that this was going to be hard to explain. I was only inside for 5ish minutes tops. Plus or minus 30.


I grabbed the oven mitts and headed outside to battle the flames and rescue dinner. To say it was a losing battle was an understatement. I can only imagine what the neighbours were seeing. Me in a little sun dress, swearing and smacking at the flames with bbq tongs and oven mitts.


FINALLY, my brother appeared. He must have heard my screaming and came to my aid.


Andrew: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!

Me: Less talk! More fire putty outty!!


Andrew turned off the gas (can't believe I didn't think of that), and got the flames under control. I was just finishing begging him to not tell anybody, and that we could work out an arrangement for this to be our little secret, when we turned around and saw mom, dad and Scott staring at us with mouths wide open.


Me: Shit.


Dad was nearly in tears over the melted siding on the house. But, you win some and you lose some. It's just the cost of doing business.


So the morale of the story is, label your spices. It will save you hours of self reflection and burnt lips.


-Love, Kay


P.S. Scott if you're reading this, I am sorry about the rice. I am like 98% sure your taste will come back. Completely my bad. I take full responsibility. But, I mean, you did take an awfully big first bite. If you had any forethought you would have started with a small bite to make sure it tasted okay.


P.P.S. This is the actual picture of the pork chops below. At least it was easy cleaning the grill. Literally, you tapped them and the pork chops/bones turned to dust and just fell through the grates. It was like a really awful cremation of a pig.





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