I fail at Housewife.

We’re seriously low on groceries right now, but neither of us felt the call of external food. As well, delivery just seemed like too much hassle and expense. I prowled through our cupboards looking for something that might serve as dinner, when voila! Jackpot! Eureka! Buried way back in the freezer under a layer of mystery meat and corn – FISH STICKS!

I did a little more freezer spelunking and came up with an unopened bag of crinkle fries. Hell yes! Tonight we would eat as kings!

Quite pleased with myself, I set about preparing the feast of a thousand hams fish particles pressed into stick shapes. Though we may be poor, we are rich with condiments and not only would there be ketchup for our meal, but tarter sauce. Truly, these are prosperous times.

This is where the fail comes in. Yes, I am fully capable of making many-course meals that are delicious and satisfying. However, fish sticks are neither of those things. Well past the 25 minutes at 425F, I made multiple moves to take our meal out of the oven – only to determine that the wobbly, greasy, pasty looking lumps of fish and/or potato would best serve more time basting in the heat.

Eventually, things in the oven stopped moving and dinner was declared ready. We dished the greasy, undercooked yet somehow still burnt blobs onto our plates, liberally added salt and ketchup and tarter sauce, and .. could not eat it.

It was rank. Beyond rank; it was almost offensive. I don’t know what kind of fish these sticks were made of, but I would wager a guess of bottom-feeding algae suckers not meant to be consumed by anything but drunken frat sharks during Pledge Week.

For the first time in our wedded life, Ed declared the meal offered up from my kitchen as wholly inedible, and threw the entire mess away.

If not for my freshly Lysol’d lady parts, our marriage bed would have been a cold place indeed.

Fish sticks suck.