[ WP ] You are clumsy in the kitchen . Today , you perform a satanic ritual entirely by accident .

Sandra stood with hands on her hips and took in the sight of her newly-stocked kitchen. All those clumsy years of her mother hurriedly shoving her out of the kitchen and then rushing back in to deal with the smoke. Being held back a year in high school for repeatedly failing home economics. Managing, in her darkest moment, to fail at boiling water. But all that was over now. She'd fully equipped her kitchen with everything she'd need to make a proper meal - gleaming new knife sets, pots, pans, measuring cups, measuring spoons, cheese grater, turkey baster, electronic food timer, meat thermometer, cutting boards, roasting rack, fat separator, and one of those little bells they had in restaurants for the cook to ring and yell `` Order up!'' 
 
 In retrospect, Sandra thought, she might have gone a little bit overboard with the shopping. 
 
 But! Nothing was going to stop her from making her first Thanksgiving dinner. Sure, she'd been putting it off all day, choosing instead to spend time writing down lists of what she was thankful for, or experimenting with candlelight to see what would provide the best atmosphere for the meal, or pouring herself a glass or two of wine. But it was fine. Everything was going fine. She'd even lit a stick of incense to relax herself. She gave the bell a little ding for good luck, and got to work. 
 
 She picked up the special herb knife she'd bought to cut up some sage, and immediately nicked the tip of her finger. `` Oh hell!'' she immediately cried out. It stung like mad, burning like a little blue flame. She shook her bleeding finger, turning to the open stove - she probably should n't have started it burning already - then to the open window, then to the flowerpot on it, then finally to the kitchen sink and stuck her bleeding finger under the water. All sorts of nasty words were running through her head. 
 
 She stumbled back to the dining room and plopped down on a chair. This was n't going how she had planned at all! Petulantly, she flipped through her cookbook and began to reread: 
 
 *In Nomine Dei Nostri Satanas, Luciferi Excelsi. * 
 
 *In the Name of Satan, Ruler of the Earth, True God, Almighty and Ineffable, Who hast created man to reflect in Thine own image and likeness, I invite the Forces of Darkness to bestow their infernal power upon me. Open the Gates of Hell to come forth to greet me as your Sister and friend. * 
 
 *Deliver me O Mighty Satan from all past error and delusion, fill me with truth, wisdom and understanding, keep me strong in my faith and service, that I may abide always in Thee with Praise, Honor and Glory be given Thee forever and ever. * 
 
 `` Wait a minute,'' Sandra said, standing up, `` this is n't my cookbook at all!'' She threw her head back and sighed and polished off the glass of wine she had poured for herself. `` Well,'' she said, picking up the Thanksgiving list she had made earlier, `` maybe I'm not a cook, but at least - Oh hell!'' The paper caught flame, having come too close to a lit candle, and she flung it desperately into a silver serving bowl to burn itself out. 
 
 Sandra sniffed in the familiar smell of ashes and burning dreams, looked at the still uncooked, unprepared turkey taunting her on the countertop. She dropped her forehead against the table and closed her eyes and tried to relax. 
 
 The sound of the door opening made her abruptly lift her head. `` Hi, honey,'' her husband Alistair said, walking in through the door. He bent down to kiss her and paused at the sight of the lit candles and the ashes in the serving bowl and their Satanic Bible still spread open on the table. He smirked at her. `` You doing a little Satanic ritual to help with your cooking?'' 
 
 `` No-'' Sandra started to say, then ran backward over the day's events. She'd rung the bell, invoked the powers of Hell and the elements while turning counterclockwise with her athame, she'd read the invocation, drank from the chalice, focused her prayers in the fire, and meditated. `` Well what do you know,'' she said brightly. `` I guess I did!'' 
 
 Alistair looked over into the kitchen. `` Sandra,'' he groaned, `` are you really counting on Satan to make you a better cook? Because seriously, I -'' 
 
 `` No, no, you're right,'' Sandra said. `` You know what this ritual has made me realize? I do n't need to be a good cook. This compulsive need that I have to be a good housemaker, to provide for other people - that's just weakness masquerading as a desire for competence! I've opened the Gates of Hell, I do n't need to be dependent on anyone else's energies! Fuck cooking! I'm done with it!'' 
 
 `` Well do n't that beat all,'' Alistair beamed. `` Hail Satan!'' 
 
 `` Hail Satan!'' she said, and rang the bell.
