This Is A Real Letter

Today, Paul.  


As in, just five minutes ago (though, technically, it could have been thirty minutes or an hour ago, it's all very unclear), I reached a level of culinary mastery that very few people ever aspire to, let alone achieve.

I have just succeeded in burning three boiled eggs to little, blackened, exploded, crispy, carbonized balls of ash.

I know, I know--what a marvelous thing.

Subsequently, I have lost all desire towards using the oven or stove or, in fact, entering the kitchen for any reason at all in the forseeable future.  This is, of course, because my mortal eyes cannot withstand the glory of my prowess that still glows brightly therein...also it smells like campfire and sour milk and ozone.

So perhaps, in celebration of my culinary achievement tonight, we could make a visit to our esteemed Edeka Grocer for no fewer than five Oreo Milka Chocolate Bars and then parade onwards to our Doberaner Kebab Shop where we will toast my bright, bright, ruined-saucepan future with some lamb-meat pitas and a shared bottle of schorle.

Triumphantly,

Heidi