Last night, my wife felt a sudden urge to get an X-Ray. It turned out to be nothing serious, but it left me in charge of cooking dinner. Fortunately, we had pork chops in the fridge. I broke out a frying pan, some olive oil, and some Thai seasoning. Even I can cook pork chops, right?

Not so much. First I burned the oil, then I burned the chops.

Fortunately, no one was around. I sliced the meat into thin strips so you couldn’t tell they were burned, then created sandwiches out of them. Throw in a side of macaroni and cheese, and I had a meal that the kids didn’t complain about.

This morning I caught Gus (the black lab) standing on his back legs so he could lick spattered oil off the counter. Apparently, I had made a bigger mess than I realized.

When my family members came home from their schools this afternoon, I warned them to keep an eye on Gus, to make sure he stayed off the counters.

“Well,” my oldest son said with a smile, “at least someone likes the pork chops!”

“What!?” I said. “No respect! None!”

“He’s just like his dad,” my wife interrupted, patting my cheek.

Hmph.

Next time they can cook their own bleepin’ pork chops!