Every year, my mother, eternal optimist extraordinaire, buys me kitchen-related gifts, which I love because it's like she's keeping that glimmer of hope alive that someday I might become a great chef...er, not burn down the kitchen. (Nope, that was not a run-on sentence).
Observation of the day: why do spice racks come with unalphabetized bottles of spices? Who can cook under such chaotic conditions?
Post-baking-script: every try making "pecan ball" cookies while getting sloshed on white wine and listening to Clancy Brothers? No? Let me save you the trouble, 'cause you'll just wind up with chunky pecan oblong-ish shapes with wayyyyy too much sugar.