(Sometimes I really think I am morphing into FRN. Really.)
I woke up this morning, early as usual, with the intention of sitting down at the computer and finishing up a critique. When I got to the kitchen, I realized that I left a muffin mix out last night. The kids love muffins, and those mixes, while not the greatest, are wonderful in a pinch. I'll make some muffins and then sit down, I thought.
Easy enough. Except when you forget to put the timer on. Oh, I thought I did, but apparently I didn't push the right button on my watch. (It was dark in the kitchen and I'm getting older, remember?) As I sat here, ready to open up my document (because of course I just wasted time checking email), I remembered the muffins. The muffins that just might be burned muffins.
Well, I lucked out. They are fine muffins. But the whole experience got me thinking. Burned muffins. That could be a novel title (watch out, you just might see me use it), or the title of an anthology, a painting, or an expression that one uses when things go wrong, as in:
- Burned muffins! I hurt my toe.
- I'm as sad as burned muffins right now.
- I wouldn't wish burned muffins on anyone!
- The kids walked in on us last night and now, my muffin's burned.