Spouse, we live in a home that is hungry, and that hunger needs to be satiated by cooks with bakeware. Who’s gonna do it? You? The children? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for the left over batter, and you curse my cooking style. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That the extra muffin mix, while useful, probably didn’t constitute a full muffin. And my cooking style, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, keeps this house fed. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me in that kitchen, you need me in that kitchen. We use brands like Le Creuset, Wusthof, Thermagen. We use these products as the backbone of a life spent preparing something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor inclination to explain myself to a woman who salivates and is satisfied by the very muffins that I prepare, and then questions the manner in which I prepare them. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a recipe and gather some ingredients. Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think about me needing a new scraper.