Diary of a bad cook

I am the outcast of my family. My dad can make delicious chocolate chip pancakes and can cook literally anything on the grill. My mom can look in the fridge and visualize all the different meals she can make. My sister is a culinary genius and whipping up  cakes is her specialty.

But me? I know how to make a total of three meals; a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cold cereal and Easy-Mac (when I don’t forget to add the water).

My mom always smiles and laughs at my attempts to cook, but I can tell that she is actually worried for when I move out and have to fend for myself. Those “Simple Meals for Dummies” books that just keep popping up around the house aren’t fooling anyone. We all know that they are meant for me.

I can still smell the burning plastic and black smoke from when I accidentally punched in 60 minutes instead of 60 seconds on the brand new microwave. The worst part was my mom wasn’t even mad. She just accepted my failed attempt at cooking.

Did I mention I broke our previous microwave, too?

I’m starting to see my mom’s point. Cooking is something that would increase my chances of survival in college.

At this point, it really seems as though I will be on the Ramen noodle and cold pizza diet all throughout college.

My lack of cooking skills also cause me to miss social events. Whenever there’s a cookie exchange or family potluck during the holidays, I’m forced to miss out. I think you can guess how awkward it would be to accidentally burn someone elses house down or to break yet another microwave in front of all my friends.

Cooking skills or not, I can always rely on my trusted friend, Cup Noodles, to get me through the day.