My mother never baked, which is likely why I never caught on to it. My mother’s best friend’s mother-in-law, who lived with us for a while, used to bake. She had me “help” her when I was a child, but I was never that much into it. All I wanted to do was read and play by myself. And write books and stories.

I took a home ec class in high school. Half of it was sewing, which was what my mother did best. She made all of our clothes (c’mon, shudder with me), but that wasn’t something I enjoyed doing either. So maybe my mother had no influence on my lack of baking either? I dunno. I enjoyed knitting more than anything.

Anyway, the second half of my home ec class was cooking. I successfully made a banana bread in that Grade 9 class. I was so proud of it. I brought some home for my mother and myself and my boyfriend at the time ate it. I never forgave him for that.

Fast forward to being married (not to the banana-bread thief) and enthusiastic about making a home. I was 19 years old. Yes, I got married young the first time. I decided to make banana bread again. I was soooo careful. I put it in the oven and checked it when it was supposed to be done. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, 45 minutes later. Then an hour. Nope. Hour and ten? Nope. I finally threw it in the garbage at more than twice the amount of time it should have taken to cook.

That was the last thing I ever tried to bake, apart from pre-packaged muffins and cookies.

The take away from this story? The day I was de-floured was the last day I baked anything worth eating.

And if that makes no sense, it must mean I need a glass of wine.

a flower

This wacky, absolutely bananas post is brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the link to find all the other participants’ posts in the comment section and join in yourself. It’s fun! https://lindaghill.com/2018/09/21/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-22-18/

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