Mom did her holiday baking yesterday, which made for an interesting morning. See, Mom isn't the most culinarily gifted among us. Her idea of successful cooking is not getting the bagel stuck in the toaster. So it was a bad idea right from the start, her attempting an elaborate recipe for pecan tartlets. WE all saw certain disaster looming, but no one asked US, so we hunkered down under the bed and prepared to enjoy the show.
Mom tends to use the entire kitchen when she's baking, meaning every available surface was piled high with mixing bowls and measuring cups and big bags of flour and sticks of Crisco, and that includes the floor. Mom's a big fan of the three-second rule. Pick it up, blow it off, and who's going to notice a little bunny fur anyway?
You have to admire the effort. She whipped and blended and folded her little heart out. She even managed to navigate the oven without searing off an arm, or setting anything afire. Imagine her pride as she whisked the first batch of tartlets out of the oven and turned them onto a rack to cool.....and watched them collapse into a smoking gelatinous mess.
You mustn't think we're heartless. Just because we choked back laughter as Mom choked back sobs...we tried to warn her, remember? It's not our fault nobody ever listens to the bunny.
It wasn't a complete loss. She managed to chisel out a few edible chunks to feed to some poor unsuspecting sap. Kenzie and I, we're just glad it won't be US. We'll stick to our grapes and tangerine slices. Even Mom can't destroy THOSE.
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