And this is why...

Anyone who knows me should know by now that I'm not a cook.  To me, walking in to the kitchen with a recipe is like trying to navigate a chaotic airport in Berlin with no knowledge of the language, no concept of where anything is, and no idea what that electronic thing on the wall is supposed to do.  And you have to find your terminal in an hour, or else you will miss your flight and then your family will be mad at you and will have to eat Cheerios.  Also, the Germans hate you.

Take, for instance, this angry German, aka kitchen appliance, that attacked me yesterday:

I mean, Crock Pots aren't supposed to do that, right?  I'm pretty sure that my recipe did not call for a tablespoon of shattered Crock Pot lid...  And all I did was turn it on low, put my food in, and put the lid on.  I was following directions, directions that even a kitchen moron like myself can handle, and yet still I failed.  It's like the mere idea of me trying to make a decent dinner from scratch made the Earth rotate on it's axis and my Crock Pot implode on itself.  That, or the kitchen Gods are having a good chuckle at me over a glass of Chardonnay and a Williams-Sonoma catalog.

As if I didn't hate cooking enough, turning it into some new daredevil sport of dodging flying glass shards makes it five times more likely that I won't engage in it.  Well, that, and I have no Crock Pot lid now.  In retaliation, I went out and got Chipotle today.  A delicious, safe, and (hopefully) glass-free burrito that I did not have to pick up a single utensil to enjoy.  Take THAT, kitchen Gods.