Our home has turned into a brownie factory.
Sunday morning: Kyle announces he is going to bake cookies. My response: Really?! For us?! Him: ...No, for my realtors (he works with real estate agents and apparently desires their love and affection over mine). Me: Maybe some for us??
Sunday night: I come home to find a mountain of baking goods complete with a replica of the Egyptian pyramids made out of baker's chocolate...and a crazy-eyed Kyle standing among it all. Him: I have to make 300 brownies...in the next two days. Me: 300...from scratch?! Him: Yes. Me: You've never baked anything from scratch in your entire life, and now you decide the best place to start is with 300 homemade brownies? Him: Yes.
Sunday night through this exact moment: Our place has smelled like chocolate heaven. Every time I walk in I have a minor emotional breakdown - it smells so delicious, but I know I can't satiate my cravings. Darn realtors... There are literally piles of brownies stacked all around the apartment, spreading from the kitchen, the epicenter, out towards the living room, and every single one is calling my name. And Kyle shows no sign of stopping. There has been a constant stream of brownies flowing from the oven for two days. And it has been the hardest two days of my life. The problem is, I love brownies and I have the self control of a two-month-old puppy. I've managed to keep my feedings to scraping out the batter bowl of the first batch, sneaking a fingerful of batter here & there, and voraciously devouring a heaping plate of crumbs and scraps. Lord have mercy.
