My mother had asked me to bake a simple pound cake one day. Needless to say, she didn't think I was handy enough to bake anything more oo la la than a pound cake. Fine. I wanted to make my ma proud, so I whipped out the Betty Crocker in me and got all up in DAT.
I got some recipe from my baker friend...I followed it...I studied it like it was some formula... and for the love of god I committed half my day to this concoction of eggs, oil, and sugar.
All fired up and excited, I proceeded to use those sky-high toothpicks to see if cake goo would stick on it or not and did some other cool baker tricks. I mean, I didn't even forget to spray that yellow can of fumes we call PAM on the cake mold. I thought everything would turn out all hunky dory...
Lo and behold...
THE AFTERMATH OF MY FLAIR FOR BAKING:
:
Clearly, I should've stuck to my other talents like rocket science, instead.
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