Although many people do not know this, I actually enjoy cooking. However, I am married to a guy who really likes it & offers to do it all the time (so, obviously, I take him up on that). As I started our pot roast this morning, I sunk into the mindless chore of washing and slicing potatoes while still sleepy. Gently, I tucked the baby carrots in. I went to the refrigerator to pull out the roast when I realized he had forgotten to trim the fat off. I detest trimming fat or, really, touching raw red meat in general. I am not so disgusted that I cannot do it, but it’s not the kind of thing one enjoys pre-breakfast. Due to a set of circumstances, we do not own a decent set of knives, so I started sawing with our tiny steak knife. Jiggling meat, hacking away… I felt like a butcher (and not in a good way). By the time I finally put the roast (now in chunks due to my lack of expertise & the inadequate knife) into the Crock Pot and covered it with mushrooms, I just wanted to leave the kitchen. Sadly, as hungry as I was when I woke up, I am now just resigned and reminded of why I let him cook the meat in the household.