The Colossus

I thought I had it down.
Ovens.
I'm on it.
I can bake a cake with the rest of them, can use silicon trays to craft delicious ring shaped chocolate cakes that even I can deem 'pretty good'. Humility doesn't factor in here - it was a truly amazing cake.
Tonight, with the flat mate out of town, I figured I had to cook for myself. 
Or just not eat, which is the often easier option, but probably not the most nutritious, and I do get tired of eating sole carrots for too many days in a row.
Vegetables, pasta, some chicken. It was going to be great.
I created it, timed it, checked it.
Then tipped it down the back of the oven.

I didn't even think that could happen. Just slid right off the tray and right down the far wall.
Pasta and cheese on oven elements does not go down well and smoke will fill a house up faster than you can say "I feel like chicken tonight... but too bad you wrecked it".
I contemplated leaving the mess in the oven and then pretending to know nothing about it.
Given there are only two of us, I'd have very little chance of feigning ignorance when the flat mate does return, so I cleaned it myself, hoping that my head-in-the-oven routine wasn't walked in on by any neighbours, sparking Plath-type suicide rumours.

Pasta bakes are meant to be about as easy as it can get. I even managed to wreck that one.
I should probably cross off "can cook" from my CV.
Looks like another carrot for dinner.

Accident Megan, back with a vengeance.
Keep on dancing.
Megan McKean1 Comment