Lia:Like you hate baking so much, you refused to put icing on your toaster strudel. Your exact words were “I want nothing to do with the process. Just put it in my mouth.”
Breaker:See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.
Lia:I’m just stunned is all. I didn’t know Birdy mattered that much to you.
Breaker:She sounded desperate. She pleaded to the nice guy. What was I going to say? I don’t bake?
Lia:That’s what you would have told me.
Breaker:You’re different.
Lia:If that’s the case. Can we take a baking class to learn how to make a wedding cake?
Breaker:That would be a hard no.
Lia:You don’t love me!
Breaker:Shut up. You know I love you more than anything.
Lia:More than your Star Wars stamp collection?
Breaker:Of course. I stuck that in storage. Clearly, it doesn’t mean that much to me.
Lia:More than your Jack Skellington mug?
Breaker:Naturally. I love the mug, but I don’t see it every day like I see you.
Lia:Okay . . . do you love me more than your signed Lord of the Rings poster?
Breaker:Oooo, now you’re testing me. How about this, you come in a close second.
Lia:Oddly, I accept this.
Breaker:LOL. Okay, Birdy’s here. Have to go.
Lia:Have fun! Send me pictures.
* * *
“I knowthis was kind of out of the blue, but thank you for agreeing to come with me,” Birdy says as she ties on her apron.
Mine is already on, and I desperately want to strip it off me.
I hate aprons.
I hate flour and sugar.
I hate spatulas.
I hate oven mitts.
I hate everything on the table in front of me.
Nothing about baking is magical to me. Not a single thing. The only great thing about the act of baking is the result, but I would rather purchase the result than make it myself. There are too many risk factors making it terrible that I’m not willing to take a chance on.
Just buy . . . always buy.
“Not a problem,” I say with a smile, even though I know the smile is fake.
