Of course the blender would explode while I have a boy over for dinner. Of course it would.

So, I had a boy over for dinner the other night. Problem? I used to be a lot more comfortable in the kitchen than I am now. I even had to ask my sister what I should make, what jalepeno peppers look like, and how on earth to cut them up. Business school was horrible for my cooking skills, as is my budding slaving-for-the-man career. I can barely find the time and motivation to move the pile of clothes from my bedroom floor once a week, let alone cook. My meals go something like this: every weekend I cook something decent, freeze the portions, and eat them during the next week. This system is efficient and makes me realize I just might be smart enough to be worth my salary. This system is also not very sexy for dinner dates. I mean, nothing says "you know you want me" like meatloaf from the freezer, right?

So I settled on chicken quesadillas, a favorite recipe of mine, and black bean soup. Once I figured out the jalepenos, the soup was going quite well. All that was left was 30 minutes of simmering, and then the systematic blending of half the pot. At about this time, the boy called to ask if he could come over early. I'm so sure. OF COURSE you can come over early. And stay as long as you want. Where have you been all my life? I love you. The only problem with his coming over early was it left me a little uneasy about having to blend the soup in front of him. I had no idea how it was going to go. Well, let me tell you exactly how it went.

He showed up and went upstairs to change out of his work clothes. I took advantage of this alone-ness to quickly scoop some soup in the blender and give it a whirl. Perfect! It was easy enough, so I emptied the now-smooth contents and filled the blender again, this time almost to the top. I didn't realize the full effect of steam pushing up against a lid of a too-full blender until I hit the 'MIX' button and saw the soup splatter all over my kitchen. What I did realize was that the boy was coming back down the stairs even as I was taking in the horrific scene, trying to think of a way to clean up in about 2 seconds. All I could think to do was call out, "Um, the blender exploded," just so he was at least prepared. Alas, I could not do away with the embarassment I'm sure he felt for me. I thought, "so this is what it feels like to cook one of those disaster meals where you instantly establish yourself as either a horrible cook or one who is so scatterbrained she cannot even keep things from exploding." All things considered, the meal turned out to be delicious, so I guess I really can't complain.