Many moons ago, I said I might share the story of how I ended up with frosting soup. Obviously today is the day.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a girl named Dana. Her mother, a single parent who was not receiving child support, worked during the summer and Dana and her sister were not to be trusted during the day. Or she wanted us to get to do something different, one of the two. It may be a combination of both because I think I was only 10 or 12 and Kari was 8 or 10. Anyway, the whole point to this is she sent us to summer school.

Somehow I got talked into taking a cooking class. It’s possible Mom was hoping that I’d just love the idea of cooking and become a whiz at it and she would come home at night to home cooked meals. I would just state for the record that this was a silly, silly idea. I don’t like to cook. There are rules involved with cooking. And strange little math problems. Such as, how much is a cup of water? What is it in comparison to 8 ounces? Who the heck ever decided that oz should be the abbreviation for ounce? Oz is a mythical realm with strange creatures (I loved the Oz books by Frank L. Baum. The movie was okay. Do not get me started on that stupid Wicked book that irritates me).

Anyway, here’s what I remember. The class took place at the high school (I think. That’s where the majority of the summer related activities took place). The teacher was this perky lady who seemed to think that cooking was the BEST. THING. EVER! I don’t do perky very well. Plus, if I’m not reading, I have a tendency to get kind of bored. When I get bored, I get distracted and I don’t pay attention.

Our first endeavor was to make some sort of fish dish. Hello, I am a Pisces. I am also the girl that decided it would be a good idea to put a fish hook in my mouth so I could understand what my fishy brethren felt like. I do not eat fish. I do not care for the taste of fish. It tastes like guilt. Plus, the fish we were supposed to use are sardines. Tiny little fish shoved into a tiny little box with tiny little eyes that are staring at me. I think I may have screamed.

Other classes went by and there was the day I burnt water. Yes. This is a true story. I burnt water because I wasn’t paying attention to the pot because I was bored. We were making oatmeal. Blech.

The best experience, of course, was when they said we would make a cake. I like cake. Cake is exciting. And we were going to make the cake and frosting from scratch. Okay, this could be intriguing. I’d rather make a Duncan Hines box of brownies but hey, what the heck, right? This cooking thing might not be all that bad.

Yeah, right.

The recipe called for a 3 teaspoons of water. I added 3 tablespoons. Apparently you’re supposed to know the difference between tsp. and TBSP. This is one of the reasons why you will rarely catch me abbreviating anything. And why I don’t text. If you can’t spell out the word, then the word does not need to be said. Plus, numbers should never be mixed with letters. They should remain separate but equal.

In other topics, I am annoyed with the Post Office. I was going to send 3 packages off this weekend and checked the hours. I picked up 4 hours of overtime on Saturday from 8-12. When’s the majority of the Post Office branches open? Yep. 8-12. There is one, however, that’s open to 1:30. This is awesome! After Keem and I get off work, we drive over to this branch. Except there’s one problem, this Post Office doesn’t actually do anything mail service related. The only thing you can do here is pick up your mail. Um, don’t you think they could have maybe added this to the website, right next to the hours? And, I’m sorry, but what is the point to this building being a Post Office if I can’t actually do mail related things from there? Am I just supposed to know what it would cost to mail something to Australia? Or Canada? Or Las Vegas? Plus, I need exciting padded envelopes. And stamps. And apparently there’s something called Customs that I have to worry about.

So, on Saturday, I will be walking to the local branch and mailing my packets out. Perhaps I will mutter under my breath.

I also feel very strongly against the IRS right now. I’ve had to take calls and explain to people, once again, that I cannot provide them with their cost basis. Plus, I am trying to figure out my own taxes. Taxes are dumb.

Other than that, life is good except that I’m kind of sick and just a tad cranky (who would have guessed it). How are you all?

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