Domestic bliss

Most people who know me now that I will never be confused with anyone who is domestically inclined.  I have a number of giftings, and domesticity just isn’t one of them.  I can get by, but that’s about it.

Thursday night, I was done walking, and didn’t want to go out for food.  So I decided to scramble the eggs that had been put out at breakfast.  That should be easy, right?  The cooker is there, the pan is there, the oil, eggs, bowl, and some veggies (onion, green pepper, and tomatoes) are in the fridge.

Except that I forgot that to work the cooker, it must be lit.  With a match.  When I was an acolyte, I loathed lighting the tapers because matchboxes and I don’t get along.  I can manage with a matchbook, but that’s it.  And what is staring at me on the counter?  A matchbox.

I managed to get the cooker into lighting mode, but it took three matches and countless attempts to get the match lit.  The match clearly has to be put close to the burner, and then it jumps with fire.  I then turned down the flame, but turned it down too low.  Like turned it off low.  Here's the evidence:

So, I did this dance three times, and the third time, I put the pan on the flame, cut up some of the veggies, threw them in, then the eggs.  I was concerned for how fast they were cooking, so I did what any sane person would do:  I turned down the flame.  Except that I extinguished it.  Again.  Fortunately, the pan was hot enough that it cooked the eggs (which are room temperature) through.

Now I’m really concerned for when I’m supposed to live on my own.  I wonder if they sell those lighting things we have that store the lighter fluid in them and eliminate matches.  If I can’t find them, I may have to acquire one or two when I come back in November.  Yes, I need to conquer my fear of close flame, but I also need to eat.