Asbestos Toast

There's always been a room in the house that is completely foreign to me: the kitchen. And not just because I can't/won't cook (that's a story for another time), but just the whole familiarity of it baffles me. This is not surprising, because I honestly haven't had a fully functioning kitchen for most of my life now. When I was a kid my dad and I would heat up our TV dinners in the microwave that we kept in the living room then wash our dishes in the bathtub. When I lived in apartments through college I was always too broke to buy dishes or proper cooking utensils. Now that I own my own home, I have a fully remodeled kitchen but it still scares the shit out of me so I rarely step foot in there.

During the remodel I was reminded of my childhood memories when my laundry room doubled as my "mini kitchen", featuring a toaster and a microwave positioned above my washer and dryer. The filth and dust from gutting my kitchen created a black soot like substance (which I claimed was asbestos) that covered everything in my entire house, including my "mini-kitchen." This resulted in my subsisting on "asbestos toast" for an entire year. I might also add that I did my dishes in the bathtub as well at this point.

Today my kitchen is fully functioning; it's just the person who operates it that's still lacking. I still continue to use paper products, refuse to cook, and have yet to purchase chairs to sit on (this is apparently becoming a theme with me). I really am so lucky and thankful for all the hard work my dad has put into it though. His awesome carpentry skills and my good taste have got me an amazing looking kitchen nonetheless. It's probably time I buy some chairs, get married (so I don't have to spend my own money on all that fucking retarded stuff proper cooking requires,) and start making use of it!