Oh, it's nothing.
Smoke filled kitchen,
burned chicken crisp
resting on the stovetop.
Mushy vegetables,
over-steamed in the pot.
Don't even talk about
the runny pudding,
the pan of popping oil drips,
or the broken dish
and spattered gravy on the floor.
It's a miracle the dog
hasn't found his way outside
in this mess of frustration
and disappointment.
And I haven't had time to change
out of my bloody sweatpants.
But we can try again in a week
after this cycle.
We're out, by the way.
Perfect...
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