Keep up out my kitchen!

I have so many things I would love to discuss and blog about, the re-election of our President for his second term, hurricane Sandy and the randomly titled winter storm Athena that tag teamed and people's elbowed the east coast, the excitement I have for the new year, even the astronomically chauvinistic ideals of the tea party and their minions.
All of these things I could discuss. But someone tried to question the temperature of the oil I was frying my chicken and I was so ridiculously offended.
SON.
Now, I no longer live by myself and I have a little sister so, sharing space is somewhat mandatory, but there are certain things I just can not handle.
A few weeks ago, I had time on my hands (a rarity) and decided to cook. My immediate family is average size. Four people. However, the number of Aunties, Uncles, cousins, play cousins, etc is huge and our house is the gathering place for all things things family, so when we cook it's for a huge number of people. Every time. My grandfather owned a restaurant that my mother worked in as a chef growing up, so...cooking for a large number of people is permanently ingrained in her spirit. She can't help herself. And apparently, neither can I.
Mixed greens, fried chicken, cheddar bay biscuits, Cesar salad, and key lime pie. Naturally my sister wanted to help, so I obliged. Corn, rice, and raspberry sorbet. My baby is growing up.
My mama came home. Walked in the house and marveled at all of the lovely aromas mingling with each other in the air. She went back to her room for a while and then...she reappeared...in the kitchen.
If I am nothing else, I am fiercely independent. Not to my detriment, because I am no fool. Batman had Robin, Superman had Lois Lane, everyone needs a hand every now and then. But super heroes don't cook.
Keep up out my kitchen.
I don't know what it is about women in the kitchen, but if you ever want to royally piss a woman off, give her your opinion on how she's making her food, without her request.
My mama was nowhere near the stove or oven. She complimented the assortment of seasonings I had on the counter and how good each one would taste on each dish I was creating. She opened the fridge and took a gander at how pretty and delicious my pie looked. But just before she turned to walk away, she said the grease for my chicken was too high and I...I just don't know what came over me.
I shunned her from the kitchen for the rest of the night. We don't have doors to our kitchen, but I built one in my head and slammed it as she walked away.
I'll admit, by the time my mama walked into the kitchen I was on the 12th of 15 wings and perhaps my grease was a little high. But no one asked her!
My mother is an excellent cook. I was a very happy overweight little girl until my weight shifted in high school. But I'm doing things for myself now and I just don't have the patience or time to deal with two chefs in one kitchen trying to do the same thing.
All in all, don't ever, never, ever, ever come in my kitchen with your point of view or opinion unless it's requested because at the end of the day your opinion is not welcome. Even at the beginning of the day, your unrequested opinion is not welcome.
Keep up out my kitchen...please.
dig and be dug...