Click any letter for a look at my prize-winning essay from the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition. You don't even have to buy a vowel.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Cherry Bombs and Sticky Buns

I’m not a nurse. I don’t play one on TV. I can’t even open a Bandaid without an instructional video. But it seems like I could manage to pop a package of pre-made dough without the household going to Code Blue and breaking out the sticky buns.

All I wanted to do was make cherry turnovers for breakfast. There are infants in undeveloped countries who can help their mothers peel the plantains for the appetizer, and I can’t manage to crack open a can of crescents and squirt the cherry plasma out of the bag without feeling like Marcus Welby, M.D.

I’m not a complete moron. Okay, I may have all the qualifications, but I should still be able to handle the point and shoot method when it comes to cherry filling.

“Here’s breakfast,” I said breathily, placing a tray carefully down on the table.

“What’s that?” Bill asked. His tact factor burned out the night I sprinkled meat tenderizer on the garlic bread instead of, well, garlic. Think salt with a side order of salt.

“They're pastries.” I put my hands on my hips and tilted my head to one side. They definitely looked better tilted.

“I’ll pass. I ate yesterday.”

“So you’re not hungry?”

“I’ll just have coffee. Why are they so. . .crispy?”

I looked at the triangular balls of dough. Burned triangular balls of dough oozing thick red mucus. “I’m having a little trouble with the new toaster oven.”

“Are you sure you changed the setting?”

“You can change the settings?”

“Uh huh. You might want to switch it from “Bloodbath” to “Bake.”

I checked the uncooperative appliance and groaned. “It’s on Broil. I guess they’re overexposed to the heat.”

“Put them out of their misery.”

"Martha Stewart would turn them into cunning appetizers."

"This is not a case for Martha Stewart. It's a job for Dr. Kevorkian."

"There's still hope. I haven't frosted them yet."

"They're bleeding to death."

“That’s cherry filling.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be on the inside?”

“I had a little trouble aiming.”

“If the Germans had your eye in WWII, they would have bombed Lexington instead of London.”

I smeared a concealing cover of icing on a turnover, took a big bite, and settled down beside him. “Well if they’d used cherry bombs like these, the war would have ended a lot sooner.”


Anonymous said...

Ooh, this is exactly how I cook! I mess up everything, so I know how you feel! Great post.

Unknown said...

You made me laugh out loud for several minutes! I think I have that same 'Bloodbath' setting on my toaster oven. Thanks for perking me up on a long work night! :)

Unknown said...

LOL!!! Thanks, I needed that laugh! :) This sounds a lot like some of the cooking my mother attempted (she'd make what we all referred to as hockey puck hamburgers). hee hee

Lisa Dovichi said...

*snickering* Dawdlepants you have THE BEST stories.. I want to come live with you.

the Bag Lady said...

Can't get the picture out of my head of those poor things bleeding to death!
Thanks for the laugh (must go get the cleaner to mop up the coffee now)

Leah J. Utas said...

Thanks for the morning laugh.

Amy Mullis said...

Y'all are a fun group. I think we should go to breakfast together. I promise not to cook!

Anonymous said...

I learned years ago that easy baked goods that you just have to open and put on the pan are tricky buggers. We truly hope that when they tore down most of the house I grew up in, they found the one biscuit that my dad managed to completely lose after a tragic accident opening the tube!

I hope you don't mind, but I tagged you.

political wife said...

ROTFLMAO and PIMP. I forgot my own rule about emptying the bladder before reading your posts.