National Candy Day and the corner candy shop let me fill my own bag — I've been taste-testing more than I've been buying. Come pick my next one?
National Candy Day and the corner candy shop let me fill my own bag — I've been taste-testing more than I've been buying. Come pick my next one?
National Sandwich Day and I'm building mine at an hour nobody should be hungry — three layers deep and still stacking. Tell me what you'd add to it.
National Deviled Egg Day and I'm piping the filling by hand like it's a competition — paprika already on my fingers and the flannel's given up on staying closed. Come claim the first one off the tray?
November's first holiday is National Calzone Day and I refuse to sleep through it — dough folded, oven roaring, flour already winning. Come claim the second one before I do?
Halloween gets done properly or not at all — the witch hat stayed, everything else didn't, and the jack-o'-lantern is the only light in my kitchen right now. Come carve with me before the candle burns out?
Candy corn for breakfast because nobody stopped me — I'm sorting them by color on the sheets and the shirt lost somewhere around the yellow pile. Come claim a piece before I eat the whole bag?
National Cat Day and my lap got claimed before I even sat down — the cat wins every year. The sweater's the only thing keeping either of us decent. Come take the other end of the couch?
National Oatmeal Day called for the real thing — steel cut, brown sugar, way too much cream. The shirt technically stayed on. Come spoon out the first bite for me?
American Beer Day dragged me out to the new taproom down the block and I've claimed the end of the long table with a flight all to myself. Four glasses, one afternoon, zero self-control. Come pick which one I try next?
Boston Cream Pie Day demanded the real thing — custard from scratch, ganache poured slow, and by the time it set I'd stopped pretending clothes were part of the recipe. First slice's already half gone. Come negotiate for the rest?