Pan Plundering & Marker Misdeeds

There are a few things in my life that are absolutes.  It's my personal addendum to the Ten Commandments.  "Self-evident truths" for a quality well lived life.  And thus far, I've always optimistically assumed these tenets were basic ideals readily held by all non-cave dwelling peoples. But sadly, it has become apparent that some folks just never got my memo. And the ones that did, they like to vex me with their feral misdeeds.

Here's my little list of absolutes:

• Chocolate will make anything better.
• Never put Ketchup on your eggs.
• Never use the words "Jello" and "Salad" together.
• Plastic cups are for camp-outs.
• Forks are the superior utensil for eating everything.
• Corelle is not fine china.
• Never, ever, label your kitchenware with your last name.
• and ALL pets should be released into the wild--most especially Edward Scissorhands, our cat.

I get made fun of all the time for these simple standards of truth (mostly by cave-dwelling ketchup people), but no matter how badly I get mocked, I never budge. [And yes, it does seem odd that most of my ideals have to do with food or it's consumption, go figure.]  Immoveable as I may be, sadly it is my fine moral standards that have resulted in a series of serious pan persecutions. 

Over the years I have brought serving dishes or cookie sheets full of homemade something-er-other to some event and because I didn't label the pan with my name, I got back the most wretched baked-on greasy pan that ever existed.  And yes, I know that if I'd just abandoned my ethics and succumbed to the pressure from that do-gooder pan-labeling coalition, I'm certain I'd still have my lustrous well-cared for pans. 

It appears that everyone is under the false impression that their pan is the next cover model for a Williams and Sonoma catalog, and the end result is that I always get stiffed with the one from hell's kitchen.  It's happened so often that I am now the owner of eight of the most dodgy looking baking sheets you've ever seen:

A crust-ridden crisis to be sure.  My poor sister-in-law has suffered through my fowl cries over this awful plight of pan-handling far far too many times, but still I refuse to label them.  I think she's had enough of my ranting because recently someone with her EXACT handwriting tried to help me out and slyly grabbed a marker when I wasn't looking and did the unthinkable...

Clearly, HER handiwork.  A nice and kind sister-in-law to be sure, but a violation of my absolute #7.  Poor Wendy knows me all too well and surely won't be surprised when I scrub it all off with a Magic Eraser and then keep on complaining when I end up with an even crustier looking pans, if that's at all possible. But it guess things could be worse, it could have sparkling pans with my name on them.  Ewww!

Sometimes, when I have trouble sleeping at night, it's because I know somewhere in a kitchen nearby, some pan-plundering homemaker is making a jello salad in one of my pristine shiny pans! [shutter]