This statement would seem more hilarious if you knew me.
My grandmother hated cooking. My mother hated cooking. I won’t say that I hate cooking, but I will tell you that I just recently figured out the correct way to make both jello and iced tea. Our daughter is a gourmet cook and we often wonder how she came by the culinary gene. Our assumption is that her paternal grandmother was an excellent cook and she must have inherited that elusive, cupcake-shaped piece of culinary DNA from her. She inevitably knows what spice to use, how to make perfect sauces and salad dressings, and her baked goods are to die for. I, on the other hand, had my husband beg me to please, in the name of all that is holy, stop making Hamburger Helper every week.
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