Turns out taffy is a two-person job and I only brought me. The sticky stuff has strong opinions about my shirt and I've stopped negotiating. Come hold the other end?
Turns out taffy is a two-person job and I only brought me. The sticky stuff has strong opinions about my shirt and I've stopped negotiating. Come hold the other end?
Built the tallest sandwich of my life and the mustard went straight down my chest instead of onto the plate. First bite's already mine — come claim the second half?
Deviled eggs before anything else is apparently just who I am now. The piping bag and I are getting along a little too well, and half the tray is still unclaimed — come fill the next one with me?
The homemade pickles turned out so good that the brine is doing more dripping on me than back into the jar. First spear's mine — come claim the next one?
Halloween deserves homemade candy apples, which explains why the red syrup ended up on my back instead of on the apple. The witch hat is the only part of the costume that survived. Come get sticky with me?
Oatmeal Day demanded the real thing, stirred slow, and somewhere around the third stir the clothes stopped making sense. Pot's still steaming and the second bowl isn't claimed yet — get here before it thickens.
National Food Day says eat real, whole foods, so I came home from the market and skipped the plate entirely. The peach is winning and I'm not fighting it. Come claim the tomatoes before I do?
Mashing potatoes by hand is apparently my love language now, and the buttons lost this fight somewhere around batch one. Come be my taste tester?
Boston Cream Pie Day, and the ganache poured slower than I expected — straight down my wrist instead of onto the cake. Custard's still cold and the fork's still mine, so come claim the second slice before I do.
Nut Day turned my living room floor into a shell graveyard and my clothes into casualties somewhere around the third walnut. Nothing between me and this bowl now — come crack the next one with me?