dinner: a narrative

This morning, Harper donned her duds of domestication and whipped up some french toast for Brandon.

The result is art imitating life. Specifically mine.

Allow me to explain:

"Sure, my entire kitchen looks like a disaster and I spent a ton of money on obscure grocery items, but I know this Pinterest recipe will be worth it. I just know it will.  MAN, the house smells good. Everybody's gonna love this! Even Harper!"

Pause to appreciate coordinated ensemble: Tulle, silk, velvet,. . . the gang's all here!
Proceed, domestic genius, proceed.

Aww, snap! Let's turn off the timer before it buzzes. I'm all over this.
Timers are for busters.

Wait.. wait now. Is that done? Yeah. Wait. No. Maybe another minute.  How long has it been in there?  Oh. I turned off the timer. Yeah. Yeah. Probably ready. Looks fine. ...Eeehh, maybe not.
.

.

((((((Long stare at oven...))))))

lasting infinitely long, or, if one were to count, approximately 7 seconds

close enough. giddyup!
...minding the exposed wrist. no time for burn care whilst presenting your family with the most wonderful meal ever.

looks gross.