Sure. We’d love to come.
What can we bring? Dessert? Sure!
Then why am I standing here at 10 am, looking at lemon bars that really belong in a dessert burn unit, trying desperately NOT to throw them out the closed window?
I checked them ten minutes early – Ten – after they’d baked at fifty degrees Less than the recipe called for, and they were burned to a miserable crisp. I pulled them out of the oven and felt angry tears welling up as my tongue wrapped itself around language I try not to use in front of the clean dishes. My husband rubbed my arm and said, “Come on, babe…”
It’s such a stupid, stupid thing. It makes me mad. I’m not usually prone to violent fits of temper towards baked goods, but today I just wasn’t baking at my best.
It didn’t get thrown out the window, it got sent to hide in the fridge – forever – with a prayer that I might someday be a better cook and sweeter human being. Amen.