Selah // Something Witty

Love like science, alchemy.

Date: 03.02.17 -- Day 22 (Day 2 of 30-Day Blogging Challenge - March Edition)
Music: "Frankenstein" / Cibelle

Prompt: The Wildcard Round - Tell us about a time that you failed hilariously at something.

My life is a hilarious fail. But there is one day that comes to mind for this occasion.

Picture this - it's 6 o'clock in the morning on a Saturday, in a quiet house as my parents and siblings slept through one of their few days off. You see, weekends were sacred in my family growing up. My father often worked night shifts at the hospital so he wouldn't be on-call on the weekends, and Sunday mornings were particularly special as my mother would cook breakfast for everyone to try and bribe us into finishing our household chores before the end of Sunday evening. However, Saturdays were the awesome days because we could sleep in...unless you were a four-year old with sneaky plans for the kitchen.

In a way, the kitchen rules in my house were a lot like the cooking show "Cutthroat Kitchen". I wasn't allowed to use the stove or the toaster without adult supervision, and supplies for cooking were limited to what I could access in my short stature without using the noisy stepladder. Added impediment was that my older brothers were useless because nothing could wake them before 10 o'clock except 1) natural disasters, 2) heavy monetary compensation, or 3) a dare so challenging I took my very life into my own hands in the face of their retribution. So this particular Saturday I was on my own to complete my mission - making breakfast for my parents.

I had it all planned out: pancakes from scratch, scrambled eggs, and bacon designed to compliment their favorite colors as well as their marital status. For three hours I managed it all with stealthy use of the microwave and strategically-mixed food coloring in the shades of brightest yellow and coolest blue. When I was through the kitchen was a disaster zone but the whole thing was worth the cleanup as it was the finest work I had ever created in all my four years.

Then it was time for the reveal. Carrying their plates up the stairs was an ordeal. I had to bring those first before going back down to get their reheated day old coffee jazzed up with cinnamon and paprika (did I mention I liked to add random spices to everything?) as well as my freshly squozen - not squeezed, squozen - orange juice from the fruit from our backyard trees. It was an ordeal, and it turns out that almost dumping that aforementioned coffee on the carpet can awaken parents in a heartbeat. However, it was their faces that truly made the moment magic. My four-year old self saw happiness and elation; my older self now recognizes those facial expressions as pure shock and pain.

They diligently ate bites from their specially orchestrated food, including the cake decorations I lined their plates with. Some of you may be asking, is it possible to make pancakes from scratch or scramble eggs using only the microwave? Incredibly, that is the same question my parents mumbled to themselves constantly as I watched them like an overzealous hawk. Interestingly enough, my father loved his orange juice so much, he asked me to grab him another glass, which I did immediately with so much glee I think I may have squealed a little. By the time I made it back up stairs their plates were cleared with no food left in sight. I was thrilled! Success! I had completed my mission without my stinky brothers, and my parents were happy with my cooking. They were so happy with my culinary excellence, they didn't have room for dinner or breakfast the next day as everything paled in comparison to my cooking.

My parents were sick for roughly two days after my "success". It took my father three years before he could eat pancakes again. And I'm pretty sure my mother was tempted to hide her spice rack somewhere I couldn't find it for the rest of my childhood. Luckily, I have vastly improved my cooking skills. People actually like my cooking now without the coercion of a cute face. And it's been decades since I'm almost hospitalized someone with my food. (The spaghetti fiasco of '97 was not my fault; I have proof!) Yet that day, that fine Saturday morn, still lives in infamy as the day I accidentally food poisoned my parents.