Cooking for Uno (this post isn't really about that)

Even though I'm pretty old, I never really had to cook regularly until I moved to Barcelona. My *parents did it when I was a kid so we wouldn't die and to give us a sense of consistency, security and togetherness (I assume). Margaret, my college/grad school roommate/**bfff was a control freak in the kitchen, and who was I to take that from her? And Danon, my ex-boyfriend/bfff, was always barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen where he belonged.

All of those people are AMAZING cooks. I'm not, but that's okay because I don't like to do it, but on the other hand, it's not okay because I have to eat so I don't die and to give myself a sense of consistency, security and togetherness.

My first month here, I took a "certification course" to teach English. I hate ice breakers nearly as much as cooking, but apparently they're also something you have to do ad nauseam so you don't die. It was the one where you say your name then something you like to do. The next person has to say the names and activities of the previous reluctants before their own, and it builds from there until the last person is in tears, and everyone is just telling him/her all the answers.

My turn came around, and I guess my passion for things I hate is greater than my passion for things I love because I was the only Negative Nancy who said something I didn't like. "My name is Emma, and I hate to cook," I said followed by a dramatic 'ewwww get it away' hand gesture (we had to do a gesture to help others remember us better). It was obvious that most of the men who came after me were uncomfortable doing my gesture, so I spent the rest of the game obsessing over the fact that I didn't do something completely unrelated like a tight twirl with jazz hands or smacked my butt with my finger in my mouth so that we could root out all the homophobes because isn't that what breaking the ice is all about?



*Once, I was driving home but was running late, so I called my mom to inform her. She thought I was calling to tell her I wouldn't be there for dinner which was something both of my siblings had just done. Before I finished my thought, she strongly said (my mom doesn't yell), "I fucking hate cooking! I only do it because you're my family, and I love you!" I was really excited that my mom said fucking, but I was also happy to know that she didn't like it either. Then, I felt bad that she'd been doing it for me for so long, and I actually thought she was enjoying it.

**best fucking friend forever