pots and pans are scary wicked

I have a magic refrigerator. At least, that's the only explanation I've come up with for the strange phenomena that repeats itself every night in my kitchen.
I arrived home from a long school day around 6:45 this evening. Fred and Bud had both already been here for at least an hour. I was sort of expecting dinner to be on the stove, because I made enough last night for two meals, because I knew that I would be home later tonight and wouldn't want to cook. I just sort of thought that if I had everything pre-made and sitting in the fridge waiting for a simple endothermic reaction, they'd go the extra mile and dump the spaghetti into a pot and turn on a burner. You can start laughing at any point, because when I walked in, the kitchen was dark, cold, and lifeless.
Which made me wonder why this is a continual, repeat performance in our house. I can get home and throw together a decent meal in about 20 minutes. I'm not talking prepared processed box crap either. I mean fresh, healthy, tasty food. Fred, on the other hand, will get home and if there is no food prepared for him, have graham crackers, pickles, bologna, and oreo's for dinner.
And we pull our meals out of the same refrigerator. I don't get it!
It's like the concept of including a pot or pan or baking sheet just throws up a million warning flags that say "if your meal requires the addition of heat, it will take 7 hours and you will have 500 dirty dishes to deal with when it's all said and done." Talk about mental blocks.
Anyway, getting back to tonight. I started heating the spaghetti in a (gasp) pot and turned on the (no!) oven to heat the bread rolls. It really did take forever, like 15 minutes at least. I also had to pull the parmesan cheese out of the fridge as well as the butter. It took skill.
My question is this: What the heck is it about men and the kitchen? My younger brother will grill man food, but put him in on the linoleum and his culinary ability extends to taking pop tarts out of their foil bags. My dad is a civil engineer. He can design power plants and dams and mines and all kinds of crazy huge things, but when he looks into the fridge it's like his brain just doesn't interpret the stimuli in front of him. I mean it. Even prepared leftovers that just have to be reheated don't make it to his optic nerves.
I've even given him precise instructions on the phone about what he can make for dinner if he's on his own for the night. Me: "Down on the second shelf, you'll find a clear container with a blue lid. Take the lid off and heat it for one minute." Him: "Nah, I don't want to mess with all of that, I think I'll just do something easy and stop at Blake's on my way home and grab a burger. You want me to get one for you?" Me: "....."
Anyway, I was originally saying that my refrigerator is magic. That's because apparently, I'm the only one that can see things in it that can be combined to make actual meals that the rest of the world would accept. Bud can identify his leftover fast food containers from the previous night, and Fred can see pickle jars and bologna.
I might stop fighting it and just join their side instead. It'd be so much easier. I could have canned tuna on graham crackers and cold black beans out of the can and slices of processed cheese straight out of the wrappers. It's starting to sound better by the minute. Thanksgiving dinner would be pretty sweet. There's some canned turkey in the pantry, and I think we can throw that together with a bag of doritos and some cinnamon raisin bagels and call it a day.