Neither of my parents cared to have kids underfoot in the kitchen, so I was in college before I learned how to boil water. And then I learned that you can't boil water in a glass bowl.
After graduate school, when I suddenly had time on my hands, I decided I'd learn how to cook for real. This coincided with the purchase of my condo-- with a kitchen the size of my parents' bar. No, my parents are not fabulously wealthy. It's just that my kitchen is that small. My new hobby faded. These days, cooking is on par with cleaning that bathroom.
I'm just now making the connection that kitchen size might have played a role in my abhorrence of food preparation. In my new house, the counter space on the island is equal to the counter space in my entire condo. This means I have counter space leftover for things like a food processor and cutting boards and a crock pot and mixing bowls. There's even a place to put these things when I am not using them. Best of all, there's a pantry large enough that I won't have to pile staples on top of each other.
Room to move, room to cook, room to store... I may be more Betty Crocker than I think.