Did you know it’s entirely possible to be so inept at cooking, that you can actually transfer the fine print from a label directly onto the meat you’re cooking? Just like an iron-on of Batman. Or a temporary tattoo. The words just  *poof*, transfer right onto chicken. In case you want to use this and put it on a craft blog, you go right ahead.

You could serve a chicken breast to someone with a heartfelt message on it, if you wanted.  ”Will you marry me?” or “Your turn to do the dishes,” or “We are so over!” or something like that.

I took a photo. In case you do not believe me when I tell you I cannot cook. Or if you doubt the moveable type theory.

I captioned it, “When vegetarian/writers try to cook chicken, you end up with fine print” or something like that and sent it to family members who will love me anyway. See? On the one on the right, at the bottom. That is not grayish ick. That is actual black and white print from when I microwave- defrosted (with love) hunks of meat next leaning on a  label with words that didn’t stay put.  That might enlarge if you click. I don’t know.

I don’t cook. I don’t eat meat. And I am rather impressed I was technical enough to post a picture of meat I managed to cook, words or not.

Made me glad I wasn’t going to eat it. It wasn’t my best mothering moment, either. Because even though I was thoroughly grossed out by dinner, I was NOT having it when the kids came to get plates and acted as if THEY were thoroughly grossed out by dinner. (And I didn’t even tell them about the fine print!)

“I do NOT want to hear it about you not wanting dinner, or how you don’t think you like that. I have been in here, cooking. Be nice. Be respectful. Sit down and eat.”

You’d think I’d had to pluck and  butcher the chicken for all the fuss I made, and all over something I sure wasn’t going to eat, and wouldn’t have even if I were a meateater. Three little surprised faces were suddenly all, “oooh, I like this”, and “thank you,” and “can I have seconds?” Not because any of these were genuine sentiments, but because I’d jumped all over them for absolutely no good reason and they were in damage-control mode.

I let the beautiful words echo around a bit. Just to enjoy the rare sound of a kid asking for seconds…. these are the kids who used to refuse to eat  my pb&js unless I lied to their gorgeous little faces and  told them their dad had made them.

But then I snapped out of it and told them I was sorry I’d been like that, and they were very sweet to me.  They are very sweet. Maybe I’ll tattoo that across their dinner tomorrow.

“You are SO sweet.”

“Mommy LOVES you.”

“Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Not all moms can put words on food. Yours is SPECIAL.”

“YUMMY, HUH?”

or

“Chick fil A Can’t do THIS, right…?”

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