It Happens in December

Every Christmas a strange phenomenon happens at our home.  I forget that I cannot cook.  You see that gorgeous table in the picture?  It's not my table.  But, every year in December, I seem to think it could be.

There's a form of selective amnesia involved here too.  I think it is akin to pain in childbirth.  I seem to forget every year that I still can't cook.  It's as if I think the cooking fairy has come to visit throughout the year.

This year, we've made or attempted to make gingerbread houses, two sets of three dozen cookies, white chocolate snack mix, oreo truffles, chocolate dipped pretzels and fudge.  The gingerbread houses are collapsing.  The oreo truffles fell apart in the white chocolate dip.  I'm afraid to cut my fudge because last year it never hardened. Each time we've done this "cooking"  I've felt on the edge of a nervous breakdown.  Can I just admit that Christmas isn't my favorite holiday?

Next year, all I want for Christmas is a personal chef.  Seriously.