I did just make him run around the building, and I have no intention of timing him. This isn’t even a stopwatch, it’s a digital thermometer.

This year I'm going to Thanksgiving at my parents' house and there was some discussion about what I was going to be required to bring.

Dad: What are you bringing to Thanksgiving?
Me: I have to bring something?
Dad: Well, yeah.
Me: Um. I guess I could bring that bread dip.
Mom: No, not for Thanksgiving.
Me: OK.
Mom: You could make the green bean casserole.
Me: Sure, let's assume that.
Mom: Do you have a crock pot?
Me: Heidi does, but it's a really big one.
Mom: Well, you can borrow one of mine.
Me: Is it hard to make?
Mom: No, it's easy.
Me: Are you sure I can make it?
Mom: Of course.
Me: Really?
Mom: Well. Maybe you can just bring the rolls.

So, I'm in charge of the rolls. Who wants to bet I'll forget to buy them until I have driven over to my parents' on Thursday, pulled into the driveway, turned off the car, and walked up to the door and then SUDDENLY I remember and have to run far away (or to Kroger, whatever) to risk the grocery on THANKSGIVING because I can't even be trusted with ROLLS. What? It could happen. Kroger is open on Thanksgiving, right?

Anyway, I also get off work early on Wednesday (don't pretend you're not jealous) so I thought I'd offer to come over and help my mom with some stuff. Because I am such a good daughter.

Mom: I was just calling to tell you that you can DEFINITELY bring the rolls.
Me: OK.
Mom: The green bean casserole is covered.
Me: Sure.
Mom: Rolls will be fine.
Me: Got it, Mom.
Mom: OK.
Me: Do you want me to come over on Wednesday and help with anything?
Mom: Sure, that'd be great.
Me: Wow, you'd trust me with helping to cook Thanksgiving dinner?
Mom: . . .
Me: Mom?
Mom: Maybe you can just start cleaning the house while your dad and I handle the cooking.

Point taken, Mom. You know, I've always assumed that one day I'll learn how to cook, but if I'm gonna hold out for The Perfect Man: Version 7.0, then HELLO, he's obviously going to not only know HOW to cook, but he's going to want nothing less than to cook me a gourmet meal every night of the week. Duh.

Also, I'm really hoping that my precious role as The First Born means I'll get to take some turkey home with me. Or, more importantly, mashed potatoes. I know it'll all be delicious because, you know, I'm not helping.