Behold! One of the few "normal" pictures of us in existence.
In thinking about our wedding, it's hard not to look back to the early days of Mr. CP's and my courtship. Though I've already told you about our first date, I thought I would share another story from the early days of our relationship.
Mr. CP had been horrified to learn that I subsisted entirely on turkey sandwiches and cereal. You see, cooking just isn't really my thing. At all. So, he kindly offered to start cooking dinners for me. I know you're probably thinking, "Oh my God, he so obviously liked you!" I'm a little bit slow on the uptake, though, so I just assumed he was a nice guy offering to feed a decidedly un-domestic girl.
Anyway, after about 2 weeks of feeding me, I offered to make him dinner as a thank you. I settled on a simple stir fry. I had made it before for myself, and it certainly wasn't difficult(ish), so it seemed like a nice and easy(ish) choice.
Despite having lived in my apartment for 4 months, I still hadn't actually used my stove. True story. What this meant, of course, was that I had no idea just how hot my stove actually burned. I was a little surprised when the oil in the pan started smoking. I was even more surprised when the smoke detector started going off. In an effort to get it to stop shrieking angrily, I tasked Mr. CP with waving a throw pillow at it to waft the smoke away.
Can you guess what happened next? The oil burst into flames. In my kitchen. While I was cooking dinner for a really cute guy. My initial thought -- fleeting though it may have been -- was, "That's about right. The Universe has a pretty serious hate on for me." My second and more useful thought was, "Ruh roh. Gotta put it out." Except that I didn't know how to put an oil fire out. Cue Mr. CP. "Throw flour on it," he yelled. I grabbed my super adorable Pottery Barn flour container, and started throwing dainty little fistfuls of flour on the flames. "No! Smother it!" Which I did. Except that I threw the container at the fire from across the room. It definitely put the flames out, but it also meant that I had smelly burnt flour caked all over the walls, counters, and floor. And a broken flour container.
This is where my story diverges from Mr. CP's. I remember laughing hysterically -- because that's just how I roll -- for about 5 minutes. By the time I sobered up, Mr. CP had magically cleaned the entire kitchen. It was spotless, and I was in awe. Who was this magical man who could clean a kitchen in 5 short minutes?
Mr. CP's story is that I was hunkered down in the corner, rocking back and forth, cackling like a crazy person for closer to 30 minutes. It gave him plenty of time to vacuum, scrape, scrub, and dust until I regained lucidity.
So, now Mr. CP's favorite thing to tell people is that I tried to burn him to death when we first started dating. And that I dislocated his shoulder just two short weeks later (which you can read about here).
Oh, and for the record, we had pizza that night. I may not be able to cook to save my life, but I can order a pizza with the best of them.