Missing Gene

It’s either my worst nightmare, or a dream come true. I’ve got a house full o’ boys.

The ones from my loins, (they hate whenever I say this, which, let’s face it…just makes me just want to say it more) plus a friend…and they’re all starving.

This is either very good…or very, very bad.

I guess it depends on whether you subscribe to the theory that the hungrier they are the more likely they’ll eat whatever you put before them, or that other theory…the one where if you’re missing the cooking-gene, there’s no amount of starvation that will save you.

I prefer to subscribe to theory number one, thankyouverymuch.

What kind of parents willfully send their offspring into my fun-loving, anything-goes-as-long-as-everyone-survives-till-morning abode with absolutely no food in their stomachs to sustain them? Are they completely insane??

Two glasses of Cloudy later, I’m in my “How hard can this be?”-mode…and it’s every man (or boy) for himself. (The sheer magic of male teens and pre-teens is their lack of persnickety taste when it comes to meals…if you make it, they will come. Whether they’ll eat what’s placed before them still remains to be seen….) Anyone who knows me knows I rarely eat…so most of the time, my meals are served without my even having tasted them. That’s just one of the hazards of the trade, people….

Deal.

The house quickly fills with smoke…as I attempt to “brown” the sausage enough to prevent my future diners from suffering from a whopping case of staphylococcus. Soon after, our Christmas tree begins to look like some sort of wispy-mirage…as we come dangerously close to setting off the smoke alarms.

But, do I care?

NO!

Because I am in the ZONE….I’m browning the sausage….I’m boiling the water…I’m belaboring the garlic till there’s no tomorrow…all whilst rocking out to “Feels Like Tonight” by Chris Daughtry on my trusty iPod….with nary a clue as to what I’m doing…but lookin’ damn good whilst doing it.

Da boys have shut their prospective doors tight in a vain attempt to prevent the smoke from filtering in and thereby clouding their vision and subsequently lowering their capacity to annialate the zombie/robot/villain in whatever the video game du-jour happens to be on this most magical of days.

It’s all full circle to attitude, people…..if you LOOK it, you BECOME it. And, I’m lookin’ very much like some fancy-schmancy, Zagat’s top-rated, cloth-napkins-shaped-like-swans, world-renowned, top rated, chef-du-jour…even if my house DOES smell suspiciously like something died and there’s equal amounts of sauce ON the stove as IN the pot. Don’t mess with me now…I’ve got my stained, ripped print out of “roasted garlic bread” from December of 2007 and I’m nuking the butter and WE’RE ROLLING NOW, BAY-BEE….and now where did I leave my Cloudy??

THERE IT IS!!

Fast forward several crucial moments later and it’s standing room only in the “little kitchen that could”…and I discover that three pounds of pasta may have been a bit over the top. No matter…for they’re eating it….be amazed!!

I’m unfazed by the substantial volume of the leftovers…as I’d no clue how much to make initially...and whatever I attempt to put away will inevitably be devoured in a few hours, as everyone knows that the capacity of the teenage stomach is bottomless…so ultimately, I'm golden.

Once again.