Michele B and I don’t bake together. Here’s why.
What I imagine it’s like when Michele is baking:
What I know it’s like with me in the kitchen:
(I love sharks, so I feel a little guilty loving this movie, but what can you do?)
No fireworks, kids. It’s all fun and games til someone puts out an eye. Then it’s still fun and games, they just can’t see it in stereo anymore…
I’m trying to coax my Chinese office-mates to go to the roof of one of the buildings on campus to watch the fireworks, but I’m afraid that the concept of the 4th of July is a little perplexing to them.
They’re also freaked out by the concept of hot-dogs because they don’t like not knowing what’s inside – this is fascinating to me since we recently had a fracas wherein one of my officemates tried to explain to an American colleague that her dog was a viable source of protein and her emotional attachment to the pooch was peculiar. My officemate was a vegetarian until she moved to the U.S., so there’s a whole lot more layers of cross-cultural wackiness to that conversation than I can ever hope to convey.
Since I usually end up playing referee, some days I find school more fun than others.