Domestically disabled... right?

While wandering through Avoca on Suffolk Street looking for C*******s gifts a couple of years ago, I found a mug emblazoned with the above image. It was just so me. In the time-honoured tradition of "a present for you... a present for me...", I decided to treat myself.

I can't cook or bake [I overdo everything because I'm terrified of giving people food poisoning with my offerings] or do laundry [things literally fall apart after I've washed them]. This ineptitude has never really bothered me.

Until now.

Maybe it's just that my 26^th birthday is looming and I'm feeling that I ought to feel too old for non-stop Futurama or That 70s Show, but in the last couple of months I've found myself drawn more and more to all things cooking-y. I find myself watching UKTV Food [damn you, Sky!]; I like the look of Nigella Lawson's offerings. I can even watch and - wait for it - enjoy programmes from Jamie Oliver and Rachel Allen. Thanks to another Rachel, one of my virtual friends from Beaut.ie, I have been introduced to the world of foodie websites via her own shiny new foodie blog, Fairy Cake Heaven. She has me wanting a red heart-shaped Le Creuset pot to make stew and dumplings and brown bread ice cream.

What the hell is happening to me?!