Yesterday I made brownies, partly because I wanted to eat one. Okay maybe two. But I didn’t want to eat a bunch. If a dozen were there, lookin at me, calling my name, I would eat ten of them. Phil would eat one and a half and then say something like, “These are too sweet.” He would throw the other half away.
When the brownies were done I put them on a plate and took them outside on faith. People were doing yard work and visiting with other neighbors. When they got finished with all that busy work I snagged them with the aroma of warm brownies. I got rid of the whole batch and had eleven neighbors sitting on the lawn swings, eating brownies and visiting. That’s what I call a successful batch. I got to have a brownie—okay, I ate two—okay, two and a half and all I have left is a dirty pan to wash. I have good memories of good friends and we visited until it was too dark to see. Phil had to go in early because the mosquitoes love him. I feel sorry for him. Before he left he said, “These brownies are too sweet,” so I don’t feel totally sorry for someone who doesn’t understand the mission of a good brownie.
Before bed I hugged him, I was sitting in the computer chair and he was standing so my ear was on his stomach area. My, his stomach is very busy. Movie production studios should make recordings of the active noises to use in horror films. Match those up with something slimy, climbing up from the foggy bog and you’d have a winner. All that sugar and chocolate could be put to productive use. He should look into it.