Culinary School

So…I’m starting culinary school tomorrow.

It’s something I’ve thought about doing for a long, long time and I’ve finally pulled the trigger. I won’t be full-time. Heck, I don’t even qualify as part time. Which suits me fine.  It should be an interesting ride.

I can honestly say I’m a little freaked out.

Somehow, I’m more nervous about my first day of culinary school than I was about the first day of my Masters program*. Truth be told, it was harder to get into culinary school than it was the grad school I (briefly) attended.  I mean, I had to write an ESSAY even!

What if I don’t fit in? What if these kids have fouler mouths than I do? What if I set someone on fire?

These are all possibilities I’ve run through in my mind.

Perhaps I’m just afraid of the uniform?

There IS the fact that the pants I tried on at the store were a bit loosened up by years of people trying them on. The ones currently in my possession? Yeah, if I gain an OUNCE, I risk splitting them down the backside bending down to take a pan out of the oven (pray that they stretch-out like jeans). I do like the fact that it says “designer chef pants” on the tag. Right… Perhaps it’s the same designer who makes hospital scrubs?

And then there’s the shoes.

THE SHOES!

Oh holy orthopedic hell.

I opened the box and it was HELLO PAYLESS! The smell about knocked me out.  I mean, shoot, I get that they are practical.

Non-skid.

If I drop a knife on my foot, I’ll probably keep my toes. But, perhaps they could look a little more like Doc Martens though? Something a smidge more stylish than, say, Grandpa circa 1976? I mean, I’m a woman who watched Sex and the City ONLY for the shoes. Manolos are a little more my style**.

Alright, alright. Enough moaning! I’m actually pretty excited (and still freaked out) to finally be doing this. Again, I don’t know where it’s going to go, or what I’m going to do with it, but it will be fun while it lasts.

Stay tuned (and pray I don’t injure myself or anyone else)…

* Yeah…Masters degree. This was required for a position I was trying desperately to get at a company I used to work for. One quarter into the program at a school I wouldn’t have otherwise chosen to attend (ahem, no GRE test score requirement is a BIG CLUE your school might not be top-tier), I realized I was playing babysitter to the younger kids in class. That was enough for me. When I do decide to get my Masters in the future, it will be on my terms.

**Yes. I own a pair. Granted, they were a sick, sick deal from Neimans and are about the most impractical shoes I own – and that is saying a lot since I am the Queen of impractical shoes.