WTH, mate?

You would think that after living with my soon-to-be nutritionist sister for the past two years, I would be used to her crap. News flash...I'm not.

After slaving over the stove all afternoon (evening, because I slept til noon), my sister walks through the door from her third date of the weekend. Yes, you read correctly. Third date. That's another story that I will have to tell later. It's a doozey.

She walks into the kitchen where I introduce to her my culinary creations and explain how each dish needs to be compiled and what ingredients go together before she tears into the bowl of fajita chicken and piles it on a piece of wheat bread.

"NOOOO. There are wraps in the refrigerator--not the mozzarella, the taco cheese."

I made some parsley potatoes and was letting them cool on the stove before I wrapped them up for the fridge. She walked into my room where I was working (napping) and said, "Uh when are you planning on putting those potatoes away. You know those are TCFs. I stare at her blankly. "Temperature Control Foods".

There may have been a hairbrush thrown. I can't deal with acronyms that are outside of my profession.