My dad can’t cook. No offense Dad. But honestly, it’s no secret. In fact, even being in the kitchen could make him prone to some sort of panic attack. Once in a while he would flare his nostrils and inhale loudly.
“Bobbie!!!” (My mom’s name is Bobbie, short for Barbara. Adorable, I know.) “Something’s burning Bobbie!” He would scream, with a look of terror in his eyes that reflected the image of all of his assets and our post-and-beam house bursting into flames. In his defense, it was a scary thought. I think that after decades of marriage you become skilled at ignoring your spouse when they’re being ridiculous. So my mother just continued cooking. She might smile at me and roll her eyes. I however, had no tolerance for it.
“Dad. First of all, you’re standing two feet away from me so there’s really no need to scream. And…
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