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They really think it’s my fault, eh? Look. I’m a stupid cook. And the kitchen definitely belongs to the bottom list of my favorite places on the planet.
Come on. It’s just the noodles. Oh, yeah, it’s just the noodles that went sticky after overcooking it for a few minutes because I was fixing the sluggish internet connection.
You call that accident, right? If you’d consider that irresponsibility, basing on the fact that I was cooking something yet I chose still to make over my net connection first, you should better exclude me. Cooking has never been my hobby. And steaming my face and letting my pores open bigger and humming the last song on my mind while waiting for that noodles to boil is not the sweetest memory I’ve dreamt of so far.
Seeing a blue fire heat that water on a kaldero is not really a very good sight to me.
And yeah, the scene I just saw prior I entered my room was sort of ridiculous. It did prick something right behind my left chest. What do you call that organ again? Oh yeah, the heart. Seeing the noodles untouched and unappreciated, albeit I prepared it in a well-manner for them to disregard the fact that it was overcooked and sticky and grotesque to look at, did hurt me.
I bet the noodles’ strands would sympathize with me if they could only speak. Telling that I’m really an idiot and that they’re afraid I won’t make a good wife.
Yeah, right. Of course. I don’t have dreams of calling The Aristocrat every mealtime when my future husband is at home.
But that’s it. I cooked the noodles and it didn’t turn out oh-so-right. I ate a part of it, but didn’t suit my taste, too. I bet that’s just the noodles’ fate.
The end.
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Current Mood: dorky
Added on: 04/18/08 21:23
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