Don't Call Me Betty Crocker...

...call me Betty Klutz-er.

I don't know WHAT is up with me tonight. I wanted to try a new, fairly easy-looking chicken stir-fry recipe. But very shortly into the cooking, things began to unravel.

I needed a measuring cup, and when I opened the cabinet a mixing bowl had shifted and fell out, shattering on top of my glass cake safe, breaking it as well. Glass went everywhere - and not just the big pieces that are easy to see, but tiny shards that you can only find when the light hits them just so.

I suspended culinary duties to clean up the mess, which took considerable time. I know I didn't get all of it because there were just so many tiny pieces.

Back to cooking. I needed a lid from a lower cabinet, and when I bent to get it I banged my head on a towel rack. I was about to put two frozen egg rolls in the oven, and when I tipped the box on it's side so the egg rolls would slide out, a large shard of glass slid with them and cut my finger. The box had been sitting open when the bowl broke.

With a paper towel clamped to stop the bleeding (it was a really small cut, but stubborn) I made rice, carefully inspecting it as much as possible to make sure no glass had gotten in the open rice bag. Then I spilled rice everywhere.

I bent to get a wok from another lower cabinet, and banged my head again.

I finally cooked the recipe, and things seemed okay. The dish was decent - not a flop but I'm not sure it was worth the work.

Lee pulled a hair from his rice. Sorry.

I ran my hands through my hair a few minutes later and found a piece of rice stuck in it. The rice and I must've traded.

When Lee took his last bite, he suddenly started starting spitting it back onto the plate. "Piece of glass," he said between sputters. GREEEEAAAT.

Tomorrow - take out food.