Here's a domestication fail submitted by Alaina of Clinton, Indiana.
My fiance mentioned the other day that he was really craving some eggs, biscuits, and sausage gravy. Being the good fiancee that I am, I decided that I was going to pick up some sausage and make him some homemade sausage and gravy. How hard could it be, right? Heh heh, wrong.
I cheerfully headed home from work today, even calling my father to get his recipe. It seemed simple enough: sausage, flour, milk, salt and pepper. I told my fiance to step back and I was going to whip him up some of the best darn sausage gravy in the world. This, mind you, was immediately before I caught him texting his mother to get her recipe. I got started with browning the sausage in my spiffy little pan and watching it cook. After a few minutes, I noticed that there was minimal grease production. “What the eff?” I thought, and proceeded to crank up the gas.
I should have known something was extremely wrong when this sausage wasn’t producing any grease, but I honestly didn’t give a damn.
The sausage finally gets done browning, and my fiance is looking up recipes on Google. I tell ye of little faith to chill, because I’ve succeeded in browning the meat! The rest should be cake. So, I start adding the flour. It starts to smell. My fiance adds more flour (I deny ever telling him to do so), it starts to smell even worse. At this point I am telling him to add the milk! He’s all like, “What about the salt and pepper?” I give him the “are you friggin' serious?” look and tell him we can add that
after the milk goes in.
After what seemed like eternity, he finally got a little bit in. I keep stirring and create a really nice black cloud that even smoke signal enthusiasts would be jealous of. What now? Add more milk! At this point, my fiance tells me I should just stop now. I get irritated and say, “
Why?!” He looks at me, trying his best not to laugh, and says, “The milk is frozen.” Frozen.
So what do I do? I beat the living crap out of the milk jug and attempt to melt the frozen pieces. This, of course, doesn’t work. The entire endeavor was a complete and “udder” (ha ha, get it? Udder!) failure.
Oh, and my fiance wants to know what’s for dinner
now?
