The door jingles cheerfully as she bounces into the shop, all decked out in her Saturday morning outfit. Wherever she turns, the clerks and salespeople greet her warmly by name.
"How are you?!"
"Isn't that the most darling dress I have ever seen!"
"Oh, look how you've grown; you look lovely as ever!"
She laughs and twirls her new dress as the shopkeepers gasp and clap. She has been going to this desserts shoppe for years and years, she couldn't remember not going there on a Saturday morning. She loves the rush of the shoppe opening, the calm buzz of early customers seeking sweet indulgence, but most of all, the smell of burnt sugar and roasted vanilla and warm chocolate buns just fresh out of the oven.
She never remembers the name of each shopkeeper who practically raised her here; she just made up names for them in her mind. Like Mr Overalls over there, a nice young fella who always tips his denim cap in a funny salute when he greets newcomers. Or Ms Lollipops and Mr Gums, who always flirt with each other when they think the Boss is not looking. Or Mrs Apron, the big old lady who roars when she laughs and always smells of cinnamon everytime she gets out of the kitchen back there. "Oh darling, always a pleasure to see you here! What can I get you? Cinnamon buns? Chocolate-filled croissants?" she bends down to the girl, who shakes her head shyly and curling up a smile, her hands behind her back. She rocks back and forth on her soles, enjoying the familiar rush of excitement and giddiness in her most favorite shoppe in the world with her most favorite people.
"Don't scare her, Apron. The girl already knows what she wants."
The old, raspy, familiar voice startled the girl and she squeals happily when she locates the source. Mr Mustache! She runs towards him and falls into his Santa-like bear hug. He smells like sugar and cigar and mint all mixed together and she smiles broadly. Her favorite candy maker! Mr Mustache is the ultimate Boss and he's owned the shoppe since he was a little boy, working side by side with his father. "Now, princess. What can I get for you?" he picks her up and sits her down on the wooden counter. "Or is it such a shame that I need to ask?" the man smiles warmly, knowing that the girl always, always, always orders the same thing: white chocolate crepes with custard filling.
She grins, kicking her feet in the air in excitement, already tasting the half-burnt crepes and the thick cream in her mouth. Her stomach grumbles unashamedly. "Can you sit down here for a couple of minutes while I take care of my customers?" Mr Mustache asks, and hands her a pen and a blank sheet of paper for her drawing while she kills time. "I'll be back; and no cheating. I know exactly how many candies I have in that jar so watch it," he winks, then hobbles over to the cashier.
The girl pushes the drawing sheet away instead and stares at the selection of chocolates in the wooden helves behind the cashier. One, two, three...even with her eyes shut, she knows exactly how many shelves are there and how many chocolates are stacked in each shelf. She opens her eyes and smiles. Her calculations never miss. She knows this place all too well and always knows what she wants without looking left and right. There it is, her ultimate target, a box of white chocolate sitting prettily which Mr Mustache will pour into her order soon. She glances around, humming tunelessly, until something steals her attention in the corner.
Her smile slowly leaves her face, and she titles her head to one side.
What is it about this box?
She gets off the corner and approaches the corner shelf. A blue, classic box of chocolate is sitting there, alone. She picks it up and runs her finger around the hard edges. How come she never saw this one before? The box doesn't have any title or engraving in it. It's just...there.
"That's dark chocolate. You will never, ever like the taste of it in a million years."
She turns, startled.
Mr Mustache is smiling down at her, eyebrows knitted questioningly, "Come on, come back to the counter."
"Why is it sitting alone?" she asks slowly.
Mr Mustache looks thoughtful. "It doesn't really match with the rest of the boxes in the shelf, don't you think? I put it there because customers are all oohing and aahing over its packaging. I love the blue color myself. But no one has actually purchased it; so it's just sitting there waiting to be made into drinks, cookies, cakes, or just, you know, plain dark chocolate."
"What is dark chocolate?" The term sounds strange in her ears.
"It's an original cocoa. It tastes bitter and doesn't have an inch of sugar inside. You know, dark chocolate." Mr Mustache explains. "But I'm not surprised you've never learned of the word before," he chuckles.
"Oh. Seems like it doesn't fit into my sugary world," she smiles, ready to put the classic blue box back onto the shelf.
"Anyways, it doesn't matter. Come on, I have your white chocolate crepes ready. This time, I told Apron to add more caramel swirls inside, just the way you like it," he winks. She follows him back to the countertop.
"Voila! One white-chocolate crepe to go," Mr Mustache hands her a takeaway box with a pretty ribbon on top. She looks at it, and she can already picture what's inside. Yes, it's mouth-wateringly delicious. The crepe will definitely leave a sweet aftertaste in her mouth. She knows how happy she'll feel when she takes that first bite. It feels..predictable. Safe.
She turns around to glance back at the box. It glistens under the morning sunlight. The color does look good and attracts customers to talk about it, but she isn't interested in the packaging. She wants to look what's inside. How many are they and what do they look like? Where did it come from?
What is it about the box that intrigues her so much?
"Actually.." she hesitates. "I don't feel like eating the vanilla crepes today."
It was as if the music stops playing and the earth freezes and somewhere in the kitchen, Mrs Apron gasps. Mr Mustache frowns, "Are you feeling okay, dear? Is it my sauce? Is the crepe not burnt enough around the edges; because we can..." he follows her trail of gaze and knits his eyebrows questioningly. "Would you like the blue box instead, dear?"
"No!" she shakes her head, a little too quickly. Not yet, not now. The idea of this strange, new item coming out of nowhere and breaking all her habits is still foreign to her. But it does radiate something else that she's sure not familiar about.
Mr Mustache smiles at her confusion and hands her the takeaway box. "Tell you what. Keep this anyway; it's on the house. And you're free to come back at anytime. Sounds good?"
She nods, almost imperceptibly.
Mr Mustache smiles as he walks her to the front door. "I have to say; I never thought in a million years you'd be interested in that dark chocolate. Or that I would live to see the day you say no to our world-famous white chocolate crepe."
"That makes two of us," she mumbles, still dazed. "Sorry for the troubles, Mr Mustache. It's not like I don't like your cooking--that would be crazy."
"Don't sweat it," he stops to plant a kiss on top of her head. "You just never meet something like that in your life before, so you're not familiar with it."
The girl stops walking and looks at him.
"Get home safe, and I'll see you soon!" Mr Mustache waves and waits until she disappears in the corner. She continues walking to the bus stop, her mind reeling. A wave of nausea and excitement flew through her veins. And she tells herself it's all because of the sunny, bright morning instead of an all-too-familiar feeling in her stomach that scares the living hell out of her.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
with a capital R.
April 12th, night time
Imagine driving on a long, straight highway with nothing else around you but good music, good companion, and a map spread out right next to you. You look outside; and it's a bright, clear day with trees rustling and birds chirping and sun peeking between the clouds, just strong enough to keep you warm inside the car but not too much that you get instantly cranky. It's a perfect setting and you hum along to the tunes in the radio because you know it off the back of your head. You've been singing to the same tune and smiling at the same buck-toothed toll ticket guy for as long as you live. Rapping your fingernails on the steering wheel as you hum along and reaching out to your backseat to find that half-open bag of chips ready to be devoured every time you feel your tummy grumble. It has become automatic. Familiar. Standard operating procedure. Your default system.
In short, you like knowing where things are.
You like the ease of placing things and the comfort of knowing that you're doing the right thing. Each of those sunny morning turns to nice evenings with cool airs and eventually into dark, balmy nights. You love it; you love knowing exactly when the color of the skies are going to change. You enjoy the tick of the dashboard clock cos it always signals the change of time at the exact minute and second. Morning, noon, evening, night. And repeat. It's your every day routine. You honk when you see a deer accidentally crossing the street and sigh in relief when it jumps back to avoid your car. The smile returning to your face, you lean back at your headrest and shift back to second gear. It's safe, it's comfortable, it's easy, it's something that you know everyone is expecting you to do.
You go ahead and keep driving; the road is still a stretch and stretch and stretch of miles with no other car around and no indication of where it's going to end. The seasons slowly change, and the autumn leaves are starting to fall; brown and red specks filling up your car roof and blocking your view but hey, so what? All you need to do is turn the wiper on and poof, the leaves slide off. Easy. Convenient. Predictable. Nothing you can't handle.
And then one night; one cool, perfectly windy night, as you lower the sound of the radio and listen to the soft hum of your engines running, taking in the comfortable, soothing silence,
A monster truck is speeding right towards you.
Its headlight glaring and engines roaring, it takes you by so much surprise that, for the first time in your twenty five years of driving, you step on that brake as hard as you can and feels your heart drop to the freaking floor and you hear someone drawing in a sharp breath until you realize it's actually your own. Panicking, you quickly shift the gear into reverse and hear the tires screech as your car speeds backwards, your heart pounding in the rib cage. And this truck; this thing that comes out of nowhere and shocks the hell out of you; it's not backing down. Its huge headlights are blinding your face and couldn't care less if it makes you lose concentration in the middle of the night. The map is crumpled now; the bag of chips fell down to the floor and scattering everywhere and the car alarm is ringing and the music stops playing and just like that, your world is upside down.
This truck keeps charging towards you, forcing you to take no other way but back into where you started. Back into before you even entered the highway. Forcing you to finally look left and right instead of always looking straight ahead and with each mile you passed backward, your heart is pounding in your ears and you get this chill, this eye-opening, face-slapping chill when you realize what you've been missing all your life. The unknown is always scary, so you can imagine how scared shitless you are. You feel like you took a wrong detour and you want to rip the map in two in frustration. You feel like you can no longer rely on your trusted car, the CD sounds awful and those chips taste bitter. Everything feels wrong now. Something is tugging in your chest and it begins with a U and ends with a Y. It's the one thing you hate, your arch nemesis.
It's like a flashback rolling back each decision you made in your mind; when you took right instead of left; when you said no instead of yes; when you just refuse to open up and to just be adventurous and steer off the path instead of staying in the track all the time. There are road signs everywhere- why didn't you take a leap?? Why did you never take off your seatbelt to hear that satisfying pop? The highway you chose was everything you're fond of, everything you like, everything you're comfortable with--but it's not something you've always dreamed of.
April 13th, 00: 40
I can still hear the tires screeching. And somehow, something tells me this is not bound to end anytime soon.
Imagine driving on a long, straight highway with nothing else around you but good music, good companion, and a map spread out right next to you. You look outside; and it's a bright, clear day with trees rustling and birds chirping and sun peeking between the clouds, just strong enough to keep you warm inside the car but not too much that you get instantly cranky. It's a perfect setting and you hum along to the tunes in the radio because you know it off the back of your head. You've been singing to the same tune and smiling at the same buck-toothed toll ticket guy for as long as you live. Rapping your fingernails on the steering wheel as you hum along and reaching out to your backseat to find that half-open bag of chips ready to be devoured every time you feel your tummy grumble. It has become automatic. Familiar. Standard operating procedure. Your default system.
In short, you like knowing where things are.
You like the ease of placing things and the comfort of knowing that you're doing the right thing. Each of those sunny morning turns to nice evenings with cool airs and eventually into dark, balmy nights. You love it; you love knowing exactly when the color of the skies are going to change. You enjoy the tick of the dashboard clock cos it always signals the change of time at the exact minute and second. Morning, noon, evening, night. And repeat. It's your every day routine. You honk when you see a deer accidentally crossing the street and sigh in relief when it jumps back to avoid your car. The smile returning to your face, you lean back at your headrest and shift back to second gear. It's safe, it's comfortable, it's easy, it's something that you know everyone is expecting you to do.
You go ahead and keep driving; the road is still a stretch and stretch and stretch of miles with no other car around and no indication of where it's going to end. The seasons slowly change, and the autumn leaves are starting to fall; brown and red specks filling up your car roof and blocking your view but hey, so what? All you need to do is turn the wiper on and poof, the leaves slide off. Easy. Convenient. Predictable. Nothing you can't handle.
And then one night; one cool, perfectly windy night, as you lower the sound of the radio and listen to the soft hum of your engines running, taking in the comfortable, soothing silence,
A monster truck is speeding right towards you.
Its headlight glaring and engines roaring, it takes you by so much surprise that, for the first time in your twenty five years of driving, you step on that brake as hard as you can and feels your heart drop to the freaking floor and you hear someone drawing in a sharp breath until you realize it's actually your own. Panicking, you quickly shift the gear into reverse and hear the tires screech as your car speeds backwards, your heart pounding in the rib cage. And this truck; this thing that comes out of nowhere and shocks the hell out of you; it's not backing down. Its huge headlights are blinding your face and couldn't care less if it makes you lose concentration in the middle of the night. The map is crumpled now; the bag of chips fell down to the floor and scattering everywhere and the car alarm is ringing and the music stops playing and just like that, your world is upside down.
This truck keeps charging towards you, forcing you to take no other way but back into where you started. Back into before you even entered the highway. Forcing you to finally look left and right instead of always looking straight ahead and with each mile you passed backward, your heart is pounding in your ears and you get this chill, this eye-opening, face-slapping chill when you realize what you've been missing all your life. The unknown is always scary, so you can imagine how scared shitless you are. You feel like you took a wrong detour and you want to rip the map in two in frustration. You feel like you can no longer rely on your trusted car, the CD sounds awful and those chips taste bitter. Everything feels wrong now. Something is tugging in your chest and it begins with a U and ends with a Y. It's the one thing you hate, your arch nemesis.
It's like a flashback rolling back each decision you made in your mind; when you took right instead of left; when you said no instead of yes; when you just refuse to open up and to just be adventurous and steer off the path instead of staying in the track all the time. There are road signs everywhere- why didn't you take a leap?? Why did you never take off your seatbelt to hear that satisfying pop? The highway you chose was everything you're fond of, everything you like, everything you're comfortable with--but it's not something you've always dreamed of.
April 13th, 00: 40
I can still hear the tires screeching. And somehow, something tells me this is not bound to end anytime soon.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Sun, feb twelveth
Something with ketchup bottle; mirror; pandora box; a metaphor in the making. Will write later.
Monday, January 2, 2012
twenty twelve!
Happy New Year!
In my view, this is the best NY 2012 greeting, written by the one and only Neil Gaiman.
Read it, mull it and enjoy :)
In my view, this is the best NY 2012 greeting, written by the one and only Neil Gaiman.
Read it, mull it and enjoy :)
Sunday, December 18, 2011
this post brings tears to my eyes
..in a completely good way.
http://stormyhaze.blogspot.com/ (title: A Little Thank-You Note)
This post leaves me speechless. Utterly completely speechless.
I love you, sis :)
http://stormyhaze.blogspot.com/ (title: A Little Thank-You Note)
This post leaves me speechless. Utterly completely speechless.
I love you, sis :)
one winter day
Sure, it's all going great, at least as great as she never thought it would be. Their laughter vibrated off the auditorium and everyone is smiling and hugging and dancing and singing off the top of their lungs. There's this warm burst of happiness in their chests every day and night and these two in particular cannot stop smiling at each other, shaking their heads unable to believe that everything is a great as they never thought it would be.
The tickle in their stomach, the gleeful look in their eyes, the bubble of laughter escaping their throat, the exchange of witty banter and inside jokes that only the two of them know. The unspeakable level of understanding that they have of each other just by exchanging brief glances. Hand gestures. Body language. It's all going oh so great; yes, it's happening and no; it's not only a friction of imagination.
But what happens when the show ends and the reality starts?
When the lights go out and the script is no longer written; when the rest of the cast heads home in sorrow and the laughter stops echoing in the room; when the playbook she's holding in her hand reads 'THE END-NOW WHAT?'; when the words finally die in his throat; when the music abruptly stops and all heads turn to see who's standing in the doorway in horror; when he's a deer caught in the headlight; when the big question arrives and reality sets in; when it's time to flip the coin and make a decision; when the audience gets up and leaves one by one with one last bittersweet look at the lead male and female cast; when the janitor passes by and sweeps everything off the floor, including the remains of the scripts;
I guess there's no other way for her but to have one final bow and exit stage; left.
The tickle in their stomach, the gleeful look in their eyes, the bubble of laughter escaping their throat, the exchange of witty banter and inside jokes that only the two of them know. The unspeakable level of understanding that they have of each other just by exchanging brief glances. Hand gestures. Body language. It's all going oh so great; yes, it's happening and no; it's not only a friction of imagination.
But what happens when the show ends and the reality starts?
When the lights go out and the script is no longer written; when the rest of the cast heads home in sorrow and the laughter stops echoing in the room; when the playbook she's holding in her hand reads 'THE END-NOW WHAT?'; when the words finally die in his throat; when the music abruptly stops and all heads turn to see who's standing in the doorway in horror; when he's a deer caught in the headlight; when the big question arrives and reality sets in; when it's time to flip the coin and make a decision; when the audience gets up and leaves one by one with one last bittersweet look at the lead male and female cast; when the janitor passes by and sweeps everything off the floor, including the remains of the scripts;
I guess there's no other way for her but to have one final bow and exit stage; left.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
365 days
I wonder how many of you have settled for second best.
I've stumbled upon many conversations about people dreaming, wanting, yearning to go somewhere, have something, be with someone....but ends up somewhere far far away from their initial destination, their ultimate goal; dangerously steering off the track.To shift this into yet another metaphor (as I obviously cannot mention the real case here), let's think of this as your preference for foods, so to speak.
So after years of years of living and reading cuisine magazines; after countless dining in restaurants, cafes, and home-cooked meals; you finally, finally, at last, know what you want as your last meal before you die: a slice of mushroom pizza. (i know it's called fungi, you pretentious culinary freaks. But this ain't a foodie blog so just scram and hurry back to your kitchen).
With mushroom pizza in mind, you are now set to explore the world and the magical restaurant adventure to search for this one perfect last meal to have for the rest of your life. You cannot wait to taste every bite of it and you appreciate each and every ingredient in it; you yearn for the creamy, slightly cheesy sauce; the soft pizza dough, the tangy sauce and the crisp, finger-lickin-good slices of mushrooms. You admire them all. And you cannot wait to have them as the perfect choice to close the final chapter of your life.
But there's one catch--you still don't know yet which restaurant has them. Of course, most restaurants do. But when you take that first bite, you realize that either the mushrooms are limp, the dough is far from edible, or the sauce smells funny. Either way, you get back on your feet and resume your journey to find the most exquisite, exceptionally good mushroom pizza you've realized you've been wanting all your life. But the challenge is tempting. And I'm not talking about the weather or the far distance--rain, storms, strong sunshine; you can take all of these. It's the temptations of other foods you cannot stand.
What's stopping you from sitting down, resting your super tired legs on a streetside bench one day, and eating delicious hot dog sold in the cart right in front of you? What about those fettuccine? Did you see the cheese on that burger? And don't even get me started on deserts..........And one day, one very tiring day, just when you feel so down and you're so sure that you will never, ever find the restaurant that sells the dream mushroom pizza, you finally stop in front of a steakhouse, panting and out of breath. It's been weeks. Months. Years. And still you haven't eaten anything because you're so sure you'll find your pizza. So you raise your hand and push open the door to the steakhouse, where the OPEN sign dangles happily. You took each step to the counter with unspoken embarrassment and disappointment at yourself, but oh, well. You finally raise your head and face the smiling waitress ready to take your order. Your hand trembles when you have that first slice of chicken steak.
And just like that--you've settled for second best. Congratulations.
I wonder how many people are fine with it. I wonder how many of you said "FINALLY" instead of "Oh, well." I wonder how many of you finds that mushroom pizza in the end and feeling so happy that you ignored all those burgers and pretzels and steaks. I wonder how many of you are smiling full of admiration at your pizzas right now, feeling content, fulfilled, satisfied. Finally. And the question I'd like to know most, is why. Why did you ever stop on that bench to smell the foods? Why are you so easily settling for second best while you know that something greater is waiting for you on the other side? Are you so scared that you won't get to meet other foods, so you decide to eat whatever's in front of you? Is it the not knowing that kills you? Are you so sure that you'll never find that restaurant? Because settling for second best doesn't work--you know?
Not when you've had that pizza before.
This, I should've told you in the beginning, isn't the case where you don't know whether the mushroom pizza exists or not. You know for a fact that it does. You've had half a bite of it, so you know it's here. Somewhere. But you don't want to go back to that half bite--this time you want the full slice. So when you've been craving mushroom pizza all these years, and then you end up thinking what the hell and opt for a chicken steak instead, you know what happens?
It.doesn't.taste.the.same. All the time you're savoring that steak with your fork and knife, you cannot help thinking the two most dangerous words ever invented together: What If. And by the time you chop that first slice of steak.....I hope you realize that you're saying goodbye to those delicious sauce, warm pizza dough and crispy mushrooms forever. You can't even afford to sneak a glance at it. Adios. All because you bought a chicken steak. Come on, it's a mushroom freaking pizza. It's not exactly rocket science. And that satisfied sigh you let out once you lips touch the dough; won't that be priceless?
This probably doesn't make sense to you. I'm just jotting down certain thoughts that I've been hearing endlessly from people around me. Certain stories that make me scream silently--of course you're not happy; you settled for second best!
Anyways. This isn't a personal story, not really. I will make sure to let you know when I find that delectable mushroom pizza. And by then, I most definitely will let you know whether I'll decide to say 'finally'...or 'oh well.'
I've stumbled upon many conversations about people dreaming, wanting, yearning to go somewhere, have something, be with someone....but ends up somewhere far far away from their initial destination, their ultimate goal; dangerously steering off the track.To shift this into yet another metaphor (as I obviously cannot mention the real case here), let's think of this as your preference for foods, so to speak.
So after years of years of living and reading cuisine magazines; after countless dining in restaurants, cafes, and home-cooked meals; you finally, finally, at last, know what you want as your last meal before you die: a slice of mushroom pizza. (i know it's called fungi, you pretentious culinary freaks. But this ain't a foodie blog so just scram and hurry back to your kitchen).
With mushroom pizza in mind, you are now set to explore the world and the magical restaurant adventure to search for this one perfect last meal to have for the rest of your life. You cannot wait to taste every bite of it and you appreciate each and every ingredient in it; you yearn for the creamy, slightly cheesy sauce; the soft pizza dough, the tangy sauce and the crisp, finger-lickin-good slices of mushrooms. You admire them all. And you cannot wait to have them as the perfect choice to close the final chapter of your life.
But there's one catch--you still don't know yet which restaurant has them. Of course, most restaurants do. But when you take that first bite, you realize that either the mushrooms are limp, the dough is far from edible, or the sauce smells funny. Either way, you get back on your feet and resume your journey to find the most exquisite, exceptionally good mushroom pizza you've realized you've been wanting all your life. But the challenge is tempting. And I'm not talking about the weather or the far distance--rain, storms, strong sunshine; you can take all of these. It's the temptations of other foods you cannot stand.
What's stopping you from sitting down, resting your super tired legs on a streetside bench one day, and eating delicious hot dog sold in the cart right in front of you? What about those fettuccine? Did you see the cheese on that burger? And don't even get me started on deserts..........And one day, one very tiring day, just when you feel so down and you're so sure that you will never, ever find the restaurant that sells the dream mushroom pizza, you finally stop in front of a steakhouse, panting and out of breath. It's been weeks. Months. Years. And still you haven't eaten anything because you're so sure you'll find your pizza. So you raise your hand and push open the door to the steakhouse, where the OPEN sign dangles happily. You took each step to the counter with unspoken embarrassment and disappointment at yourself, but oh, well. You finally raise your head and face the smiling waitress ready to take your order. Your hand trembles when you have that first slice of chicken steak.
And just like that--you've settled for second best. Congratulations.
I wonder how many people are fine with it. I wonder how many of you said "FINALLY" instead of "Oh, well." I wonder how many of you finds that mushroom pizza in the end and feeling so happy that you ignored all those burgers and pretzels and steaks. I wonder how many of you are smiling full of admiration at your pizzas right now, feeling content, fulfilled, satisfied. Finally. And the question I'd like to know most, is why. Why did you ever stop on that bench to smell the foods? Why are you so easily settling for second best while you know that something greater is waiting for you on the other side? Are you so scared that you won't get to meet other foods, so you decide to eat whatever's in front of you? Is it the not knowing that kills you? Are you so sure that you'll never find that restaurant? Because settling for second best doesn't work--you know?
Not when you've had that pizza before.
This, I should've told you in the beginning, isn't the case where you don't know whether the mushroom pizza exists or not. You know for a fact that it does. You've had half a bite of it, so you know it's here. Somewhere. But you don't want to go back to that half bite--this time you want the full slice. So when you've been craving mushroom pizza all these years, and then you end up thinking what the hell and opt for a chicken steak instead, you know what happens?
It.doesn't.taste.the.same. All the time you're savoring that steak with your fork and knife, you cannot help thinking the two most dangerous words ever invented together: What If. And by the time you chop that first slice of steak.....I hope you realize that you're saying goodbye to those delicious sauce, warm pizza dough and crispy mushrooms forever. You can't even afford to sneak a glance at it. Adios. All because you bought a chicken steak. Come on, it's a mushroom freaking pizza. It's not exactly rocket science. And that satisfied sigh you let out once you lips touch the dough; won't that be priceless?
This probably doesn't make sense to you. I'm just jotting down certain thoughts that I've been hearing endlessly from people around me. Certain stories that make me scream silently--of course you're not happy; you settled for second best!
Anyways. This isn't a personal story, not really. I will make sure to let you know when I find that delectable mushroom pizza. And by then, I most definitely will let you know whether I'll decide to say 'finally'...or 'oh well.'
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