We owned a very heavy cast iron skillet.
Owned.
Past tense.
It was rusting and I couldn't seem to care for it properly. The rust bothered me. I didn't want to eat a rusty omelet or orange-tinted hash browns. Even after finding a website for proper maintenance techniques I decided it was too much effort for one pan. My husband scowled when I suggested we never use it again. So I dropped the subject and decided to let him deal with it.
One evening he used the pan to make dinner. The hamburgers were great and I assumed everything was going well for him and the pan. But a few hours later as I was cleaning up the kitchen I saw a black handle sticking out of the garbage can. Huh. I guess he's done with it. I thought. So I pushed the skillet farther in, dumped some onion and lettuce scraps on top and closed the lid.
The next evening Thom took out the trash.
Quite honestly, I was thrilled to be rid of the rust bucket. One less pan to wash! But fast forward a few weeks with me ....
Thom walks into the living room and asks, "Have you seen the skillet?"
"Uh, you threw it away a few weeks ago ... remember?" I retorted.
To that, he throws his hands in the air, claims innocence, and blames me for throwing out the pan!
What???
Apparently the pan was in the garbage to drain the grease. Apparently he forgot about it and assumed I had taken it out. Apparently he didn't notice how heavy the bag was when he removed it from the can.
To this day we still laugh, point fingers at one another and completely disagree with who's to blame.
Of course ... he is.
Comments
Ken has actually learned to check the garbage before it gets taken out--sometimes he "rescues" some treasure that I mistook for trash!