Betty Crocker has opened a can of whip-ass

Since sacrificing myself on the altar of domesticity, I have realized a number of things. First of all, "take out" is not one of the four major food groups. As such, I have discovered that I can actually cook. Which is relatively surprising because two months ago was the first time I ever used an oven. I'm 31 years old. This, this is sad.

I have learned that it takes about seventeen times longer to make a meal than to eat it. And about twelve times longer to clean up after. We're talking a 17:1:12 ratio. This is simply poor time management; the opportunity cost is way off. Especially when the alternative is a three minute phone call, exchanging money for food, eating, and then throwing everything away. A friendlier 1/17:1:1/12 ratio if you will.

I have learned that the fairies at the dry cleaners who spread sunshine and joy for only $.99 a shirt are not the only ones expected to know how to get wrinkles out of a button-down. I am expected to have fairy dust as well. It actually comes with my new iron.

I have learned that the killer dust that continues to cover every surface of my apartment no matter how many times a day I clean and how tightly I shut the windows is most likely nuclear clouds of radiation being blown around Europe from Chernobyl.

I have learned that the washing machine is actually not an evil contraption created by some crazed NASA scientist who's watched one too many episodes of Star Trek and is trying to send everyone through a worm hole.

And I have further learned that there are more than just "whites" and "everything else" when classifying clothing. Of course, gone are the days when the dry cleaning fairies would make that distinction for me....

I have learned that two people, for some strange reason, cannot subsist on only champagne, soy sauce packets, and granola, and that food shopping is an evolving, continuous chore that actually needs to be done more than once every never.

And most importantly, I have learned that I MUST FIND A JOB.