Dinner Rush

This, needless to say, was a disaster. The pot of duck that I was trying to cook was boiling over, the duck sauce was burning, the herbs had fallen into the fire, the butter was rancid, and the oven wasn't working.

I had failed at my task. It started out fine, with the table getting set up, and all the red and gold decorations. Then I needed to actually cook the dinner, which was when everything started tumbling down the hillside.

Nothing at all could possibly save this caramelized, undercooked mess of meat and duck sauce. The only thing left to do was panic and order a large pizza online, which was nothing compared to my truly delectable cooking, but it was, perhaps, a start.

The order would come in by half an hour, and it would be an hour till the love of my life came home to this explosion of a kitchen. Nothing was going right in our little college apartment, and I suppose that it would stay that way for the rest of time.

Twenty-Five minutes until the order arrived, and the clock was ticking. I hadn't even figured out a way to deal with the massive mess in front of me. I had turned off all the burners, but the duck pot was still trying to stop boiling, not to mention that the sauce was still smoking.

Twenty-Two minutes until the order was here, and the smoke alarm just went off. Wonderful. Now I have to turn that off too.

Twenty minutes and thirty seconds left until our huge four-cheese pizza was here, and I finally got the smoking pan out of the apartment and onto our concrete porch. I think that I may have gotten a couple of third-degree burns along the way, but I had to save this kitchen. It was at the very least a start to the cleaning of this mess.

Fifteen minutes and I had finally gotten the pot of half-boiled duck fixed and trying to fit it into the freezer, where we would thaw it again later and feed it to our dog, Rumplestiltskin.

Ten more minutes and I was still struggling with the Tetris game that was our freezer. Peas and carrots falling into holes, bags of frozen beets and cracked corn refusing to move out of the way for our sad little duck.

Seven minutes and twenty seconds until our order arrives and I finally got it all figured out down in the kitchen. I had to sit down for a moment while I got ready for the delivery man to give me the pizza.

One more minute left and I remembered all about the smoldering duck sauce on the balcony. I just hoped that it wouldn't leave a burn mark on the concrete.

The order arrived just as I figured out that some time outside in the cold February night air was plenty for it to cool right off. I opened the door for our pizza and brought it inside with me. I tipped the boy a ten.

I didn't have long to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Oh boy. I got to work on re-lighting the oven, which was certainly going to take a few minutes.

Twenty-Five minutes until my wife's scheduled arrival and I was scrubbing at the kitchen floor.

Twenty more minutes and I grabbed the mop to fix all of the water that had spilled out onto the floor. My bad scrubbing job didn't seem to help a bit with the mess that currently plagued the floor.

She arrived just as I had finished mopping the floor. That would be Ten minutes earlier than normal.

"Are you doing alright?" She asked me.

"Yeah, I'm just chilling out with Rumple." I panted.

"Judging by the dirtiness of your clothes, I'm guessing something else entirely." she said. "Were you just cleaning the house?" she gasped. "Did you make us dinner? With your cooking?" She began to giggle.

"I admit it. I tried to make a romantic duck dinner, but I somehow managed to ruin everything within the first hour of the whole 'cooking' bit."

Chris laughed hard and looked at the table. For a split second she seemed quite confused.

"Is that... a pizza?" she asked.

I nodded glumly.

"I know, it's not very romantic, is it?" I asked. She surprised me with a kiss.

"It's good enough for me, Phil. It's good enough for me." she said.

"Say, what happened to the duck?" Chris asked.

"That just so happens to be the dinner that I was trying so desperately to cook."

"Well, it seems that Rumple will sure eat his fill." she said.

"Sorry." I said. "It was a mistake to even try cooking. I failed the culinary arts class every time that I took it. You would think I would have actually picked something up while I was there."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Chris said. Then she switched to a more playful tone as she sat down to get some pizza. "I bet you couldn't even figure out how to work a toaster in there and the teacher had to kick you out. You know, before the whole school burned down?"

Luckily, these kinds of jokes don't hurt me too much, and she knows that quite well. That's why she says them in the first place.

I sat down beside Chris and began eating my pizza too. It tasted just as good as anything Chris had ever made, and Chris makes the best baked goods. I think that it tasted that way because it was ordered with love in mind, and that's always the best ingredient.

We both looked at the photo on the wall that we had taken two months ago. It was our official wedding photo, and it felt so stupid that I was worried about how romantic this dinner was, because it was simply perfect. Even if it was only pizza. Nothing could break the bond of our love.

Nothing.