Cooking Class

My mother liked to bake cookies and pies and cakes. But usually, when I asked to help, she wouldn't let me do any of the measuring or mixing. She would say "You can grease the pans". I guess she thought I couldn't make any mistakes and mess up the recipe that way, or perhaps she was too busy to help me learn new things. I knew a little bit about cracking eggs, measuring flour, etc., but wasn't very comfortable in the kitchen.
So in seventh grade, when I took cooking class, I was pretty nervous. We got a grade based on how well we followed the recipes and the teacher's instructions, which made me even more worried.
I remember that Liz, a girl in my class, cut the grapefruit the wrong way, with the cut going through the place where the stem had been instead of having that place at the bottom of one half. That makes it very hard to eat the grapefruit, and Liz was embarrassed.

I got through the grapefruit and biscuit making class ok. But the next week's class was baking muffins. It was a hot in the classroom with an oven going on a September afternoon in St. Louis. We had to read the recipe, make the muffins, set the table, and then sit down and eat like ladies.
I did what I was supposed to: measured, mixed, baked, sat politely and ate a muffin. Then I did what I was NOT supposed to. I felt awful, from being nervous and hot and from eating quickly. I asked to be excused, and rushed to the restroom, where I threw-up. Naturally my classmates found out what had happened. So I was known (and teased a little bit) for having gotten sick on my own cooking.