‘We’re going to have a bake off’ they said ‘Oooh count me in’ says I and then they tell me they don’t need me to work there anymore…
And so I find myself on a random midweek day off, dusting down the scales and the mixer, picking weevils out of (the wrong type of) sugar and making a massive eggy, floury mess in my kitchen.
Whilst whisking my tears into the soft white peaks of the egg whites (want me back yet?) I wonder what possessed me to agree to this? I’ve seen posts all week with pictures of the other creative masterpieces baked by my rivals and despite my low level of (patience) baking skills, my competitive streak takes over completely and I decide this will be the best mother fucking yule log the world has ever seen.
And alright, so I let Betty Crocker make the icing (that bitch know what she at) and I didn’t entirely follow the recipe, but I’m fairly sure that if they don’t remember me for my creative genius in the workplace, they are deffo gonna remember this bad boy.