Everyday dose of Reality
OK, maybe not an open fire this time. The oven was set to 450 piping hot degrees Ferinheight.
By nature I am an iceberg. I don’t say that in a condescending way about myself. Macgyver calls me a “freeze baby”. I have on several occasions considered having the chilly willy” penguin tattooed on my ass. Complete with his famous words of course, “ah hee achew”.
You might wonder, if I am always cold why do I live in Minnesota? I’m a northern gal is the answer. I have lived in warm states such as, Alabama, Georgian and Arizona. Turns out I was cold there as well. I figure I have been freezing cold for so long it’s almost a pre-cryogenic state. Just think of the money I am saving not having to pay a company to freeze me.
All of this brings me to my point of the oven. I cannot waste a nicely heated oven once I am done cooking. I am positive there are millions of women all over the world who have roasted their chests as well. Now, I don’t have a million followers, and honestly I don’t know why. *Note to self: kick up the efforts of world domination a notch or two.
Ladies, give me a shout if when you are done with the oven and there is a chill in the air, you leave the door cracked.
So do I!
With the oven door cracked the wafting heat seduces you to its warmth?
Same with me!
You have found yourself standing at the oven door holding your shirt pulled out so the heat filters up the front of your shirt?
In trying to warm yourself up, enjoying the immense heat, you might have roasted your lady parts too much and they are a tiny bit sore?
What? I can’t be the only one.