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det_montoyaWhat is it with March? It's like we spend the entire month chomping our way through cake. Just when I think it's finally over, there's a new one waiting in the break room. I swear if I have to eat another piece... I'm gunna hurt somebody.
Which makes this funny. It's Dee's birthday. I got the day off. She didn't. So what am I doing? I'm baking her a cake. She's the cook! I'm lucky if I can boil water. The microwave is your friend. Use it often. Use it liberally.
I had to find a recipe. Do you have any idea how hard that was? She's got close to a hundred cookbooks. And they all said something different.
Shopping. No problem. Pappa hooked me up. Got out before the conversation turned sour. Still put me about half an hour behind.
So here I am. Cups and measuring spoons spread out on the counter. Gunna follow this thing step by step. Pouring the flour.
POOF! ...
And I'm wearing it.
Even from the kitchen, I can hear the front door open. My eyes go from the utensils to the bowl to the stove to the apron. Oh hell no. What a mess...
"Renee? Hey baby! I'm home!"
The icing on the cake? I'm not fast enough to hide it all. When she rounds the corner, I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
I stop. She stops.
"Happy birthday, Dee," I finally manage.
She smiles and starts to cry.
Which makes this funny. It's Dee's birthday. I got the day off. She didn't. So what am I doing? I'm baking her a cake. She's the cook! I'm lucky if I can boil water. The microwave is your friend. Use it often. Use it liberally.
I had to find a recipe. Do you have any idea how hard that was? She's got close to a hundred cookbooks. And they all said something different.
Shopping. No problem. Pappa hooked me up. Got out before the conversation turned sour. Still put me about half an hour behind.
So here I am. Cups and measuring spoons spread out on the counter. Gunna follow this thing step by step. Pouring the flour.
POOF! ...
And I'm wearing it.
Even from the kitchen, I can hear the front door open. My eyes go from the utensils to the bowl to the stove to the apron. Oh hell no. What a mess...
"Renee? Hey baby! I'm home!"
The icing on the cake? I'm not fast enough to hide it all. When she rounds the corner, I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
I stop. She stops.
"Happy birthday, Dee," I finally manage.
She smiles and starts to cry.
