There IS a Difference
between evaporated and condensed milk.
Wish someone had clued me in on this little tidbit before I dumped a whole can of the former over the 7-layer bars Bob and I had carefully constructed. We baked them for the required 20 minutes and took them out to "cool completely before cutting." By the time it was time for Bob to go to bed, they still weren't cool...and to be honest, appeared a bit runny. So I stuck them back in the oven, told Bob we'd cut them in the morning before school, but that if they didn't turn out right, we'd stop at the store and get something else for him to take to school for treats.
20 minutes later, they still looked runny. But I thought maybe they'd firm up in the fridge.
No dice. This morning we cut into a sloppy, gooey mess. I'm sure it's quite tasty, but not worthy of presenting to a bunch of preschoolers. They'd love it, but I'm sure the teachers wouldn't when it came time to clean the kids.
So we stopped at the grocery and bought cookies. With sprinkles.
I'm such a failure. I'm sure Bob's problems all stem from the fact he didn't get a Betty Crocker Mom.
At least we had a good time making the stuff. And I told him we can always try again. Maybe tomorrow, even.
Sunday I have to send him to his asshole sperm donor's for a whole fucking week. That sucks. Especially since Bob asked me this morning, "can I go to Miss Renee's house if she's nice?"
Um...not as long as Mommy still has a pulse, sweetie.
Why would he ask me that? Did DB mention going over to her house? Are they back together? Wouldn't surprize me. He was on his cell phone last night when he called to talk to Bob. And he defended her even after he filed a police report against her for drunkenly lobbing large objects at my child.
This is not jealousy. I'm happily married and even if I weren't, I wouldn't fuck him with someone else's...well, you get the idea. I don't give a shit who he sticks it in, but I don't want his psychotic whore girlfriends around my son. If he met someone who was nice and genuine and treated Bob the way a child should be treated, I wouldn't have a problem with it. But women like that don't want an asshole like DB. The kind of women who can put up with an old, unemployed, ignorant, psychotic dumbass are women who are either crazy themselves or looking to bolster their floundering self-esteem by being hateful to someone less powerful than themselves--like kids.
I'm worried. I'm worried about not being able to protect my son from whatever psychobitch his father decides to shack up with in the future. Ben even mentioned this morning that trying to prevent it is probably futile. But Bob is my kid, and I will damn well do whatever I have to do to try to protect him.
I shouldn't worry. I should be confident that everything will be fine and that DB learned his lesson and that the cunt is pissed off enough by the police report that she won't give him the time of day, and that Bob and his sperm donor will spend next week fishing and watching inappropriate tv.
I just wish I could rest assured of that.
Wish someone had clued me in on this little tidbit before I dumped a whole can of the former over the 7-layer bars Bob and I had carefully constructed. We baked them for the required 20 minutes and took them out to "cool completely before cutting." By the time it was time for Bob to go to bed, they still weren't cool...and to be honest, appeared a bit runny. So I stuck them back in the oven, told Bob we'd cut them in the morning before school, but that if they didn't turn out right, we'd stop at the store and get something else for him to take to school for treats.
20 minutes later, they still looked runny. But I thought maybe they'd firm up in the fridge.
No dice. This morning we cut into a sloppy, gooey mess. I'm sure it's quite tasty, but not worthy of presenting to a bunch of preschoolers. They'd love it, but I'm sure the teachers wouldn't when it came time to clean the kids.
So we stopped at the grocery and bought cookies. With sprinkles.
I'm such a failure. I'm sure Bob's problems all stem from the fact he didn't get a Betty Crocker Mom.
At least we had a good time making the stuff. And I told him we can always try again. Maybe tomorrow, even.
Sunday I have to send him to his asshole sperm donor's for a whole fucking week. That sucks. Especially since Bob asked me this morning, "can I go to Miss Renee's house if she's nice?"
Um...not as long as Mommy still has a pulse, sweetie.
Why would he ask me that? Did DB mention going over to her house? Are they back together? Wouldn't surprize me. He was on his cell phone last night when he called to talk to Bob. And he defended her even after he filed a police report against her for drunkenly lobbing large objects at my child.
This is not jealousy. I'm happily married and even if I weren't, I wouldn't fuck him with someone else's...well, you get the idea. I don't give a shit who he sticks it in, but I don't want his psychotic whore girlfriends around my son. If he met someone who was nice and genuine and treated Bob the way a child should be treated, I wouldn't have a problem with it. But women like that don't want an asshole like DB. The kind of women who can put up with an old, unemployed, ignorant, psychotic dumbass are women who are either crazy themselves or looking to bolster their floundering self-esteem by being hateful to someone less powerful than themselves--like kids.
I'm worried. I'm worried about not being able to protect my son from whatever psychobitch his father decides to shack up with in the future. Ben even mentioned this morning that trying to prevent it is probably futile. But Bob is my kid, and I will damn well do whatever I have to do to try to protect him.
I shouldn't worry. I should be confident that everything will be fine and that DB learned his lesson and that the cunt is pissed off enough by the police report that she won't give him the time of day, and that Bob and his sperm donor will spend next week fishing and watching inappropriate tv.
I just wish I could rest assured of that.
posted by Mitzi Green at 9:53 AM
1 Comments:
OK, Condensed vs. Evaporated milk. Evaporated Milk is milk that has had most of the water removed by - get this - Evaporation. With me? Condensed Milk is similar, except it's had buckets of sugar added to it, so when it dried up (ie, through cooking) it turns to goo.
One is just milk, the other is a dentists best friend ;)
As for the upcoming week, hang in there. I'm sure things will work out just fine. Of course, if you're like me, you will sit and stew and boil and think of every worst-case-scenario, tear your hair out, and all will be well.
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