So . . .
I took out my mother's "Better Homes and Gardens - Special Breast Cancer Awareness Edition" cookbook (it's cover attracted me with it's vivid-stomach-medicine-esq pink hue).
I followed each and every step TO THE LETTER.
I was feeling rather smug as I waltzed around my kitchen with stars in my little girl eyes. I was dreaming of becoming a world-class chef, battling it out with gang in Hell's Kitchen, or maybe just trying new cupcake recipes every Sunday and giving the results to friends, who would cry tears of appreciative joy and applaud me as I slow motion sashayed up the front walk in a 1950's housewife apron on while carrying a tray or artfully eye-catching and artistically decorative cupcakes.
Needless to say . . . I decided to give up these dreams once my cupcakes exploded in the oven and I half-burnt down my kitchen.
I seriously don't know why the god's of domestication are urging me to eat out from now on.
I just really really want that apron.