Sometimes hubby complains that I don't cook much. I should cook more because he works 14, 16 hour days more often than not. He is totally right.
However, in my defense, there are reasons I don't cook. Tonight, I was all excited...pizza night! Sure, gluten rips me a new ***hole, literally, but sometimes one must suffer for their favorite food. No pain no gain, right? So I let the dough rise as hubby got ready to cook. But then hubby got an email that essentially said, you will be working till 2:00 am when India starts and then 6:00 am when NYC comes on. All weekend. So get to it! So I was the kitchen fairy tonight.
So I was like, I'm gonna do this. I'm making pizza. I have pre made dough and toppings and...it's on! I even cleaned part of the kitchen and was ready to be Suzy Homemaker and clean the damned house too. It needs it. Then I had an asthma attack from hell. After recovering, I was still gonna be Suzy, dammit. I was determined.
The pepperoni went missing but I found it after 15 minutes of looking. Then I went to do the dough but the rolling pin was, still is, missing. No prob, Bob, I told myself. The directions say you can stretch OR roll it into a 12" disc. Makes sense. Wiggle the round ball into, well, pizza. I can do play dough. I can do this.
I tried. I tried some more. I googled and you tubed to see how to do it after a few failures. Then I tried some more. I can do this! I am woman! I have a gifted intellect! I can make this kitchen my *****!
Then I decided I am going to cry. And give up. And I did. My son can eat a microwaved hot dog. I will have some yogurt. I will quietly toss a pop tart at my busy husband.
'Cause this is my 6" shy attempt number 10 or so at pizza dough. With pre made dough. After almost an hour of trying. I surrender, you evil dough bastard. Call
me a bad wife, I don't care. Case in point...my shameful evidence...which my best friend says looks like some new species of fungus.