I’m
not a nurse. I don’t play one on TV. I can’t even open a Bandaid without an
instructional video. But it seems like I could manage to pop a package of
pre-made dough without the household going to Code Blue and breaking out the
sticky buns.
All I wanted to do was make cherry turnovers for breakfast. There are infants in undeveloped countries who can help their mothers peel the plantains for the appetizer, and I can’t manage to crack open a can of crescents and squirt the cherry plasma out of the bag without feeling like Marcus Welby, M.D.
I’m not a complete moron. Okay, I may have all the qualifications, but I should still be able to handle the point and shoot method when it comes to cherry filling.
“Here’s breakfast,” I said breathily, placing a tray carefully down on the table.
“What’s that?” Bill asked. His tact factor burned out the night I sprinkled meat tenderizer on the garlic bread instead of, well, garlic. Think salt with a side order of salt.
“They're pastries.” I put my hands on my hips and tilted my head to one side. They definitely looked better tilted.
“I’ll pass. I ate yesterday.”
“So you’re not hungry?”
“I’ll just have coffee. Why are they so. . .crispy?”
I looked at the triangular balls of dough. Burned triangular balls of dough oozing thick red mucus. “I’m having a little trouble with the new toaster oven.”
“Are you sure you changed the setting?”
“You can change the settings?”
“Uh huh. You might want to switch it from “Bloodbath” to “Bake.”
I checked the uncooperative appliance and groaned. “It’s on Broil. I guess they’re overexposed to the heat.”
“Put them out of their misery.”
"Martha Stewart would turn them into cunning appetizers."
"This is not a case for Martha Stewart. It's a job for Dr. Kevorkian."
"There's still hope. I haven't frosted them yet."
"They're bleeding to death."
“That’s cherry filling.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be on the inside?”
“I had a little trouble aiming.”
“If the Germans had your eye in WWII, they would have bombedLexington
instead of London
I smeared a concealing cover of icing on a turnover, took a big bite, and settled down beside him. “Well if they’d used cherry bombs like these, the war would have ended a lot sooner.”
All I wanted to do was make cherry turnovers for breakfast. There are infants in undeveloped countries who can help their mothers peel the plantains for the appetizer, and I can’t manage to crack open a can of crescents and squirt the cherry plasma out of the bag without feeling like Marcus Welby, M.D.
I’m not a complete moron. Okay, I may have all the qualifications, but I should still be able to handle the point and shoot method when it comes to cherry filling.
“Here’s breakfast,” I said breathily, placing a tray carefully down on the table.
“What’s that?” Bill asked. His tact factor burned out the night I sprinkled meat tenderizer on the garlic bread instead of, well, garlic. Think salt with a side order of salt.
“They're pastries.” I put my hands on my hips and tilted my head to one side. They definitely looked better tilted.
“I’ll pass. I ate yesterday.”
“So you’re not hungry?”
“I’ll just have coffee. Why are they so. . .crispy?”
I looked at the triangular balls of dough. Burned triangular balls of dough oozing thick red mucus. “I’m having a little trouble with the new toaster oven.”
“Are you sure you changed the setting?”
“You can change the settings?”
“Uh huh. You might want to switch it from “Bloodbath” to “Bake.”
I checked the uncooperative appliance and groaned. “It’s on Broil. I guess they’re overexposed to the heat.”
“Put them out of their misery.”
"Martha Stewart would turn them into cunning appetizers."
"This is not a case for Martha Stewart. It's a job for Dr. Kevorkian."
"There's still hope. I haven't frosted them yet."
"They're bleeding to death."
“That’s cherry filling.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be on the inside?”
“I had a little trouble aiming.”
“If the Germans had your eye in WWII, they would have bombed
I smeared a concealing cover of icing on a turnover, took a big bite, and settled down beside him. “Well if they’d used cherry bombs like these, the war would have ended a lot sooner.”
1 comment:
I spent Friday learning the fine art of rolling out chicken pie dough for the church's chicken pie sale. After about the 1st 4 tries, I finally got it right! My hands were sore the next day...
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