Tracy looked over from where she was at, the cabinet with plates. "First the Dick Tracy crack and now you're own cooking? Even Princess Emerald, who didn't know a sauce pan from a soup pot wasn't THAT dense. You're underestimating yourself. Here, you CAN set a table, yes? Show me you're one up on the princess in at least that regard. Thank you. Flatware is there," point to a top drawer, "Glassware there." She pointed up to above the sink. "And, no, they're called glasses despite none of them actually being made of glass." What they were were different sizes of to go plastic reusable cups, many from fast food places, ranging from eight ounces to a litre. One large cup was from Arthur Treacher Fish and Chips, and was probably as old as her, but still in great condition.<br/><br/>She took a breath, "As for your compliment, thank you. Before these three years are over, you'll be cooking as well as me. Actually... I hope it's better than me. Plan on being up early every morning to learn how to cook different breakfasts. I'll start off easy with fried eggs and ham." She frowned even more before returning to a regular look (for her) "Men. Huh. Tell me, what are they good for? I'm done with them. Junior was the final straw. As for another of your remarks, all I can say is don't insult the arses by calling your cousin one." Yes. Tracy Milbanks did have a sense of humor after all. Even if her delivery probably would have frozen even Queen Elsa.<br/><br/>Tracy went back to the oven and poked the roast, before pulling it out, setting it on a cooling rack atop the stove (the turned off large burner). "I do believe we can eat. We serve ourselves. You first." She would set a hot placemat on the table before moving the roast pot there with two mismatched oven mitts.