One evening, Lon was called back to work. “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I can grill the pork chops.”
“Don’t forget to keep an eye on them so they don’t burn.” Lon is a master with the BBQ grill and he had planned on grilling the pork chops for our dinner that night. As he headed out the door, he asked, “Are you sure you can handle the grilling?”
“No problem,” I said. “What can be so hard about grilling?”
I dreamed of winning awards for being a BBQ chef and master griller mama…
Disclaimer: By the way, this was my first time ever grilling porkchops ever!
After pre-heating the grill and placing the pork chops on it, I set the timer for 12 minutes, per the package instructions. I then helped the kids with homework, folded laundry, and loaded dishes into the dishwasher. I watched the grill from the window and all looked well. My first time grilling was turning out to be a cinch. Perhaps I could even become a pro at it. After all, I love to bake!
Unfortunately, the timer went off while I was out of the room. “Mom! The buzzer went off!” the kids yelled.
“All right! I’ll be there in a minute!” I continued my chores, then walked out to the deck to retrieve the chops. I was horrifed by what I saw.
However, as one who always tries to see the bright side of things, I quickly reasoned that meat should be well-done to kill any bacteria.
Lon wasn’t so eager to embrace my grilling (in)abilities. When I served him the pork chop, he had a disturbed look on his face. “Did you forget to check on the pork chops?” he asked.
“Uh, sorry about that,” I muttered. “We have watermelon and salad too.” But my suggestion was no use. The sight of the overly-done pork chop took precedence over anything I might say.
“Mom, is something wrong with the pork chops?” Sunshine asked.
My dreams of becoming a master griller mama fizzled.
Lon wasn’t too optimisitic. As though he was a special agent for the FBI, he began to probe me with questions. “How long approximately, were the chops on the grill?” “Was there smoke coming from the grill?” “Was there something wrong with grill?” He then proceeded to fully investigate the BBQ for signs of tampering.
Back inside the house, Lon reached for his fork. Before and after pictures are all the rage these days, so I thought it only fitting to provide a before picture of the very fork Lon used to cut his pork chop.
Lon attempted for the first time to cut into the pork chop. The fork wasn’t able to hold up under all the pressure.
Never one to give up on his first try, Lon again attempted to cut into the pork chop.
Still to no avail, Lon tried once more to cut into the delicattesan that I had prepared for dinner.
We mourned the loss of the fork that would never be the same after its valiant attempts to cut into a pork chop. Wiping a tear from my eye, I knew that my career as a master griller mama was quickly coming to an end. From now on, I would stick to my Maytag double oven when making dinner.
No sooner had I wiped the last tear when Lon ran out to the garage. “It’s time to call in the big guy,” he said.
I’m happy to say (and my family will happily agree) that I am no longer grilling pork chops. From now on, that’s Lon’s department!