cooking

I like to cook. When I started cooking, I thought Dorothy would be so thrilled that she wouldn't mind cleaning up after me. I was wrong. Her statement to me was, "Have you ever cleaned up after my cooking?". What kind of attitude is that? Anyway, she gave me a pasta maker for my birthday, and I made some Ravioli. After I cleaned up, here's what she found: A wad of dough in the corner of the counter. (How'd that get there?) Some flour on the floor. (Oops) And, I really couldn't tell you how that marinara sauce got in the silverware drawer. Maybe I should confine my cooking to the grill outside. At least all the drips and drops will be cleaned up by the dog.