(I just found this story in my archives. It was written while Crazy and I were still roommates, during the period after Crazy discovered my blog. I didn't post it at the time because I didn't want to exacerbate the situation. However, it is too funny not to share. So, here you go.)

A while back, I bought a few sweet potatoes from the grocery store downstairs. I baked one with a little butter... delicious! I did the same with the second, and was preparing to do the same with the last one when my potato was hijacked!

Here's how it went down:

I wrapped the little guy in some foil and threw him in the oven. All I had to do after that is be patient. Just as I was about to exit the kitchen, Crazy strolls in and asks "Whatcha makin?" I told her and, of course, she was full of advice! "You should microwave it for like 5-6 minutes, then put it in the oven at 325 for 20 minutes. And put this-and-that on it and blah, blah, blah..."

"Naaa. Thanks for the tip. But, I'll just do it the same as I did it the last time," I replied.

"Really?! It'll be much better if you do it my way. Trust me! Wait, I'll call my mom. She's a great cook!"

The next thing I know, Crazy's on the phone with her mother, asking her how I should make my potato. "Oh! 350 degrees, not 325? Oh, okay. And how long in the microwave?..."

Oh geez, I thought to myself. Can't I just make my own damn potato?! After 10 minutes into the call, I decided to leave the kitchen and just let the oven do the work. Moments later, I hear, "My mom says to do blah, blah, blah... I'll do it for you!" She then kidnapped my poor little sweet potato and zapped him in the microwave-- even though I had mentioned that I prefer not to microwave my food. I wasn't about to get into a fight over a potato. However, I was obviously annoyed by her compulsion to control everything. I really don't understand her obsession with my potato. I can only surmise that she attempts to control others to compensate for the lack of control of her own life.

Anyway, when all was said and done, my potato wasn't even that good. "How did it turn out?" she asked. "Was it crispy on the outside, and soft on the inside???" 

"No," I replied. "But it was fine, thanks."

Maybe it didn't taste as good because I felt like the potato was abused. I almost felt sorry for it. I wanted to apologize to it for having to go through that ordeal. ...I don't know if I'll ever be able to eat another sweet potato. :(