Kiss your loved ones goodbye...

...because I'm pretty sure that the end is nigh.

People, I have news that may alarm and frighten you.

Are you ready? OK, here goes.

I used my oven three days in a row.

No, I have not forgotten (or worse--somehow never quite learned) what an oven is. This is not like the time when I was three and my mom asked my dad to go put some clothes in the washer, and he stood in the laundry room for a solid five minutes staring at the machines before finally calling back up the stairs, "Which one is the washer?!?" No. I know what an oven is. I have not confused it with my microwave or my toaster or my new printer/scanner thingie. I know how to work my oven; I just don't generally do so more than once a week. And that's actually a pretty optimistic estimate. Twice a month might be more realistic.

Not only did I make something using legitimate ingredients and oft-neglected cookware three days in a row, but I actually planned a meal based on things I already had on hand! I am well aware that many of you people do this sort of thing all the time, but frankly, it's a pretty foreign concept to me--one of those "easier said than done" sorts of endeavors. I never have things on hand that can be made into other things. Aside from my newly acquired leftovers, I currently have the following items in my fridge: milk, cranberry juice, deli turkey, swiss cheese, cinnamon bagels, salsa, baby carrots, and Kozy Shack low-sugar tapioca pudding. You just try combining those in some new and fun way to assemble a proper meal of any kind. On second thought, no. Don't. I don't even want to play that game.

Anyway, since I am far more impressed with myself than I probably should be, I am going to pretend this mild feat of wonder is interesting to other people and therefore explain how this small miracle transpired.

It started with last weekend's quesadilla adventure, which left me with three-quarters of a bag of spinach in my freezer that I decided to use on Sunday to make Darren's spinach, artichoke, and feta stuffed shells. Then I had extra spinach and artichoke hearts left over, so on Monday I went online to seek out recipes by ingredient and came up with a cheesy spinach & artichoke casserole thing that looked like a reasonably good option as well. (Note to self: I am really feeling done with spinach and artichoke for a while.) I had to buy eggs for the casserole's sauce, and since I do not dig eggs on their own, I had to find a way to use those, too. Because the stars are aligning in my kitchen in a most unusual and fortunate way, I also happened to have three overripe bananas on hand, so I continued the cooking madness last night by making a loaf of banana bread. With chocolate chips. (Which I always have on hand.) Yum.

I'm a bit concerned that all this cooking and general domesticity from such an unlikely source may have disturbed some delicate balance, however. Perhaps the world can't bear such a radical shift in momentum. I may be exaggerating, of course; I may be erring on the side of caution; but if it's possible I could in any way be able to affect the fate of the world, then I really shouldn't take any chances. Or, that's what I'm telling myself, anyway, to explain why tonight's dinner was a bowl of Peanut Butter Puffins. Can't be too careful, after all; wouldn't you agree?