When I was a boy, I used to hate it when my mom looked over my shoulder while I was trying to do something. That something usually was my attempt to prove that I was a big boy. Mom watched the entire time, not quietly. My mother has never been one to sit back silently (bless her dear soul). She waited to give me some type of instruction, maybe step in to rescue me or completely take over. I hated that. Hate, hate, hated that.
“MOM! I CAN DO IT MYSELF!”
Now that I have a working oven again, I decided it was time to cook a pizza. It smelled lovely as I waited nearby, typing away at a project on my computer. I have a nice little wood pizza thingamabob to take the pizza out of the oven.
I can never use that thingamabob properly. It is supposed to make the insanely easy difficult task of taking a cooked frozen pizza out of the oven.. easier. As you can see in the picture, the pizza just about was shoved back into the oven when I tried to play Mister Professional Pizza guy and slide the wood pizza thingamabob quickly under the pizza. I love it when I see the cook do that at pizza restaurants, flipping the pizza into the air a little. When I try it, I usually just crinkle the pizza up or worse. Tonight, I had to enlist the help of a fork to loosen the pizza from the rack and slide it on the wooden thingamabob.
“SEE MOM. LOOK. I DID IT MYSELF!”