Bitchin in the Kitchen

I baked a pie!!!!!

Why does that sound so awkward? I guess normally you’d say you made a pie, but in this instance I did no such thing. I took a pre-made pie and shoved it in the oven and baked it for a prescribed amount of time.

Actually, that’s not strictly accurate. Let me rephrase.

tried to bake a pie.

I decided it was time to sacrifice one of the caramel apple frozen pies I bought. It had been taunting me for days and finally I could take it no longer. It was high time it got what was coming to it.

I decided today was the day, thinking that it’s the holidays and I can probably pawn some of it off on unsuspecting friends (the fact that people rarely willingly come to my apartment is obviously irrelevant – I believe I’ve already proven my delusions know no bounds). Yup, well, I burned half of the pie. HALF OF IT! Granted, it was just the topping and it was only starting to burn, but STILL! How does one burn HALF a pie? I could see burning half a chicken nugget seeing as they need to be flipped. I could see burning half your french fries (you know those bastards never cook evenly!). But a pie doesn’t need to be flipped and it’s uniform in shape and depth! I ask you, how is this possible?

I believe that is what you call pure, unadulterated talent. (At least the un-adult part is true.)

OR the kitchen is out to get me. Still. Or possibly again. It’s wily, that kitchen. Maybe I’m being haunted by the ghost of my smoke alarm.

If I disappear, avenge my death!

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