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Sep 30, 2009 - 09:55 PM |
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I Grow Weary of Not Eating |
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I have a stepmother. I am not her child and there is some resentment against me for existing in the household before her arrival. This resentment has endured since 1985 and often manifests itself in the form of denying me that which would provide me comfort and self-esteem.
She is quite territorial, having staked out the kitchen as her personal domain. This is a problem, as the kitchen is one of those rooms that must be shared. Others are spared her jealous watch, for they are either the breadwinner or her offspring and have legitimate claim. I am neither; I do not deserve to use the kitchen.
I cannot be caught in the kitchen without receiving the hairy eyeball from this woman. I am using up valuable food resources, food that could otherwise go to her children or husband, not me. Never mind that I purchase 80% of the food I eat and merely need a place to prepare it. See, not only am I unwelcome, I am also incompetent. I am reckless and have no regard for the welfare of others. I am incapable of following printed directions. It is inevitable that I am going to someday reduce the house to smoldering cinders by preparing soup from a can. I am going to induce a nuclear meltdown when I microwave noodles for four minutes. This is not a matter of if, but when, and it's her responsibility to keenly monitor my every movement to assure that I don't consign the entire house to a premature demise.
I also use pans, plates and silverware that she must later wash. My hunger is a great inconvenience. I have offered to do the dishes so as to compensate for my presence in the kitchen. This is unacceptable because my incompetence extends to the act of cleaning also. I do not wash dishes her way, which is the only proper way. I will put them away in the wrong order. I will break the plates and crack the glasses. I will get the counter tops wet and it is tragically impossible to dry them with a towel. I will leave the washcloth on the wrong side of the sink and chaos will break loose. Demons will run free because of my lack of discipline. No, it is best that I not get near the sink lest we usher in a new era of darkness.
Four times tonight, I attempted to cook dinner for myself. My choice was not complicated - a can of Spaghetti-O's. Empty contents of can into pan; heat; serve; enjoy. Simple, right?
The first time, I was rebuked because she was using the oven to prepare cheese sticks and I would be in the way. Cheese sticks do not properly cook if there is other food nearby. Everyone knows this.
The second time, I was turned away because she was baking dessert and you cannot operate an oven and a gas burner without opening a calamitous vortex into the Skullgrinder Dimension. This is, of course, very harsh on the linoleum flooring.
The third time, I was denied because she had disassembled the stove top to clean out the burners and surrounding area. She knew I wanted to make some dinner but that was of no concern, the burner plates are dirty now.
The fourth time, I was sent out of the kitchen because she was washing dishes and cooking something would only dirty up another pan. I had all evening to make dinner, why was I waiting so late?
I was then yelled at for leaving my can of Spaghetti-O's on the counter. If I wasn't planning on eating them, I shouldn't leave them in her way.
This grows extremely tiresome. I tire of being given the silent third-degree every time I so much as prepare a sandwich. I tire of the guilt trips I receive for having the audacity to want food. I tire of watching everyone else eat dinner, knowing that there was not enough prepared for me, and knowing that I am not welcome to join them. I was here first. I'm more a member of the family than my stepmother or half-siblings are.
I just want to eat a meal now and then. Is this so wrong?
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