I’ve come to the conclusion that Martha Stewart and I will never be friends.  I mean if you ignore the fact that we don’t live near each other and have no mutual acquaintances to introduce us.  You see because if we did live near each other and had a mutual acquaintance to bring us together we still have nothing in common.  Nothing.

Martha bakes.  Not now does she bake, she seems to do it effortlessly and without making a mess.  Me?  I experiment at best and my kitchen has yet to experience me creating in it without there being a massive mess.  It just doesn’t happen.

On top of Martha baking, she knows which weeds you can eat or turn into a marvellous salad.  She can whip up a four course elegant meal without batting an eye.  I suspect she never even sweats when she finds herself preparing fancy food (probably everyday fare for her) for people.

Martha knows her way around knives, spoons and stoves.  Pots do not get in the way and I doubt that she has ever been terrified of which implant to use for mixing her ingredients together.  Martha is at home in her kitchen.

My kitchen doesn’t I still terror in me, not exactly.  But I view it as a room when magic can happen.  Both the kind of wonderful magic as well as the kind of magic that comes when none of the stars are in proper alignment.  My kitchen may be in my home, but it’s not where I feel the most at home.

And im not ashamed to say I never know exactly which implement is best for mixing up certain ingredients.  And this creates angst for me friends.  Great angst.  Because I have two different schools of thought when this happens:  grab each implement and use em until I find the right one or because I detest dishes so much just make do with one implement  for the whole cooking.

Its stuff like this hat lets me know that even if Martha and I knew each other it wouldn’t be good.  She’d probably judge my every move in he kitchen and offer that perfectly helpful (for everyone but me that is) advice of hers.  And then she’d become frustrated with me clumsy attempts to replicate what she does so effortlessly.  Or she’d be horrified at the mess everywhere.

So you see there really is no way for Martha and I to be friends.  Not even over a lovely, perfectly baked and beautifully decorated cake.  But if Martha wants to stop by with said cake I am more than willing to visit with her.  I’ll put the coffee on at just the right time!