The Right to Bear Arms

I enjoy cooking. Every aspect of the process of creating a meal brings me some sort of fulfillment, even washing the dishes. However, there is one thing that tends to be a small burden. Long sleeves. That’s two things, isn’t it? Fuck it. Seriously, trying to chop herbs or flip some meat or scrub a pan (rage level at max) while rocking long sleeves drives me crazy. Ok, lately, I’ve had a ritual of sorts when it comes to my evenings. Small meal/smoothie, gym, come home, snap the bong and then cook. The hoodie stays on after the snap, because, well, I’m too fried to even think about putting on appropriate cooking attire. I could easily make alterations to my ritual, right? Whatever, this is my story. Long sleeves. Pests. With that said, I feel a little for women who star in cooking shows. Women already have be glammed up just to be on camera. Standing over a stove in a dress seems slightly torturous. I’m aware its edited, but that’s not the point. The point (barely) is comfort.

If Nigella Lawson was your step mom, and you were at the age where your hormones are racing but you’re still inexperienced, how often would you try to lay your head on her chest? And have her read dessert recipes?

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