Woe #25: My irrational fear of blowing up the house must come to an end.

To be fair, I have to tell you all how amazing my mother is.

She is the most headstrong, knows what she wants, takes no shit from no-one, hardworking, loving woman I've ever had the privilege of knowing.
And quite frankly, as our relationship has developed over the past couple of years since I've been in college, she has become a very dear friend.
(Because honestly, who gets along with their mother while they're still in high school? *Not me!*)
Through the writings of this blog, sometimes I say how my mother is difficult and hard to work with while planning a wedding.
Not all of it is true!
She is constantly calling me to make sure I'm taken care of, that the wedding planning on my end isn't too overwhelming, her checkbook is quite the help, she's on the lookout up North for deals for my bridesmaids and Trev's groomsmen, and I truly appreciate her opinion.
After all, I have never planned a wedding before, and she has.

Me and my cute parents July 2012, my 20th birthday

Despite her amazingness, the one area my mother failed in despite endless efforts and lots of failed attempts, was teaching me how to cook.

And alas, that leads me to my next woe.
Woe #25: My irrational fear of blowing up the house must come to an end.

That's right, I don't cook. It's because I have a serious irrational fear of blowing up the house by cooking because of the stove and oven. Don't ask me why, it's just the flames from the stove top and the risk of leaving the oven on plus a whole lot of other factors terrify me. I have solely survived college on easy microwavable meals, eating out, or not eating at all. (Maybe that's the reason I'm a chunky monkey.)

I also have an irrational fear of eating food that is rotten. For example, if cheese has been in the fridge for more than a week, I panic. Or, if food has been in the freezer for more than a month, I'm hucking that shit into the garbage. I'm constantly questioning Trevor about the contents of his refrigerator, and will not eat if I don't deem it safe. (Not one of my best qualities, since I've seen starving people in Guatemala. But I can't help it!)

But since I'm getting married to a big boy who loves to eat, I might wanna start learning how to cook. One day we plan on having a family too, and I don't want them to grow up without home-cooked meals or with awful home-cooked meals. Yesterday, when the salmon came out of the oven looking way too pink and chunky, I called Mom in a panic. Good thing she is only the phone call away, and when Mom won't answer, thank heavens for the Internet.