I need adult supervision.

OK. I can cook. I may not be a gourmet chef, but I can cook. I definitely am a good baker. I make a peach cobbler that is pretty close to perfection (in my mind) and love to try new recipes. I even joke that I want to some day own a bookstore/bakery/coffee house (all the things I love together). The point of all this is that I know my way around a kitchen.

But, apparently, I need adult supervision when I’m in the kitchen. In the last week, I seem pretty set on injuring myself or at least scarring myself for all eternity. While baking in the last week or so, I burned my hand, almost reenacting the angry burn of Christmas 2007, which of course, left a scar. My arms and hands are marked with beautiful little burn scars.

And then, tonight, I decided to reenact the great cooking-for-a-boy accident of 2001, without the blood spatter. I wasn’t cooking for a boy this time, but I was using a knife and chopping things. It’s just that tonight, the chopping included my left thumb. And the bleeding wouldn’t stop. At least not until I went upstairs, found a band-aid, and ran around with my hand lifted higher than my head.

So I guess what I’m saying is that I can’t seem to go anywhere near a kitchen without injuring myself. Maybe I shouldn’t go into the kitchen or handle knives or open the oven without supervision. Which, sadly, is exactly what all those cookbooks for children say to ask an adult to do.

And Mary Tyler Moore said I could make it on my own!