I give up...but not really

My most recent attempt at Sunday dinner actually reduced me to tears.

Honest-to-goodness shoulder-shaking sobs.

Excuse-myself-from-the-table bawling.

Everyone very gingerly coaxed me back to the table, and enthusiastically told me how great it was. (Liars.)

I resolved at that moment to officially let go of the notion of the Sunday dinner. 

"I give up," I said.

"I hate cooking. I am not good at it. I am clearly not able to produce anything more difficult than chicken fingers and fries," I said. 

I felt better. Lighter. Like a weight had been lifted.

The next day the girls and I went to Costco and - my hand to God - I bought a cookbook.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?