As I'll probably mention frequently on this blog, my wife is in medical school. I write comedy on the Internet. This relationship dynamic has several immediate impacts on my life. Firstly, I live with the humbling knowledge that there will likely come a day when I will try to tell her about a particularly clever reference to genitals I made, and she will reply that she just saved the life of an orphan child by physically pumping their heart in her bare hands. Also, I'm slowly learning to cook.

The cooking thing is happening mainly because my wife is gone all day cutting up bodies and wading in their slime, and I'm at home typing and grazing continuously, much like a cow that can type. And I gotta say, it's damned empowering. There's not a lot more satisfying that crafting the perfect half-moon omelet and suffering no breakages or cheese seeps. Short order cooks must be happy ALL THE TIME.

My current favorite maneuver is to stick a tray of vegetables into the large heat-box in the kitchen and come back one episode of The Wire later to find it miraculously converted into food. Then--as I learned watching half an episode of Emeril at the mechanic's--I violently throw spices at the tray in an attempt to ward off evil spirits. Then I gently separate the vegetables from their protective coating of char, and it's bon apetit! I'm telling you, I'll be publishing a cookbook as soon as I figure out what "tsp" stands for. So far I've determined that it definitely doesn't stand for "total salt (pounds)."

It's my hope these bold first steps represent but the beginning of a whole new era of domestic skills development. Next up: learning to use the iron, or, as I know it, "burnie the hiss-monster." Now that I think about it, the iron would probably be a good way to seal those omelets with more precision. Good Housekeeping Hall of Fame, here I come!