Domestic goddess I am not

Craving a new experience, I set to work in the kitchen to cook homemade marshmallows. First I burned the microwave popcorn that was meant to tide me over while the gelatin bubbled. Then I dropped the glass bowl that attaches to my mom's 30-year-old electric mixer, which shattered into an uncountable number of shards and sand particles. (Hi Mom, I'm sorry.) My dad and I spent the next forty-five minutes mopping up the wreckage with a variety of tools: wet paper towels, garbage bags, a small broom, a flashlight, and last weekend's Sunday Times Magazine.

On the plus side, I got my wish. I think most good experiences involve heat, potential danger, and working together with others. On the minus, I am worried that an errant piece stuck will end up in the foot of our dog Pablo, and the idea that I could be responsible for his pain terrifies me. I keep reminding myself that he does walk around shoeless outdoors every day. But still! Nearly two hours later, every piece of fuzz or dirt on the ground still looks like glass dust.