I made french onion soup and grilled cheese for dinner tonight.
Emma gobbled up her half of the grilled cheese and wanted more. Scott got up and started making her another one.
He throws one buttered bread on the pan, throws the cheese and another buttered bread on top. He spins around.
Where’s the spatula?
Huh? It should be right there?
No, it’s not. I can’t find it…
Look in sink?
(I get up and help him look. I held the tongs up right by the pan). Hello!! It was right here!!
Those are tongs!
That’s not a spatula!
Well, they work fine. A spatula? You think a spatula would work for flipping grilled cheese over?
You are nuts to use tongs. Oh yeah forgot who I’m talking to – the world’s worst cook.
Well, figure it out McGyver. I did. Use what you have available. Use the tongs! Isn’t this like Boy Scouts 101? (I am now laughing at my McGyver and Boy Scouts joke. I have my head buried in my arms, laughing). Aren’t I funny? Why aren’t you laughing with me?
Now my grilled cheese is burnt because I was supposed to looking for tongs and not a spatula. And we have no more cheese.
Oh my gosh, Scott! Really? You can’t be angry at me! Maybe you should have had your utensils ready before you threw buttered bread on the burner! I’m going to blog about you. A spatula is like what you use to scrape out dough from a bowl.
You know what I’m talking about. The long one.
It’s not called a spatula.
Yes, it is.
Saturday nights at our house = lame.
He did smile when he sat down to eat. Told me he loved me – even if I can’t cook.