|
November 23, 2004-5:55 a.m. I'm up at my usual workday ass-crack of dawn. Instead of being able to drink my coffee and leisurely eat my cholesterol fighting oat-based cereal (today--Banana Walnut Oatmeal) while surfing the net, I find myself baking biscuits for a breakfast spread at work. Can I tell you how much I hate this? First of all, I'm not that keen on cooking. It's not that I can't cook. I just don't like to cook. If it weren't for my mom cooking my dinners, I would no doubt be subsisting on bagels, canned soup and frozen dinners. Secondly, god knows what the other folks will be bringing. Will it be appetizing? Do they wash their hands? Did their dog eat out of this dish at one time? All very important questions for which I have no answers. Thirdly, I live 46 miles from work. By the time I get these biscuits there, they'll be stone-cold and could probably be used as hammers. I'll let you know how it goes but I'm not feeling that confidant at this point. **Disclaimer: All characters in this diary are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, real or imagined, is purely coincidental and unintentional.** |
