It’s a bit rough when you are just trying to support your teenage daughter’s future as a pastry chef and she bans you from touching the chocolate brownies that are sitting on the bench. Especially when she has just called for help in setting up a brownie photo shoot (as you do in our house). I mean, for goodness sake, they were fresh out of the oven, all hot and chocolate and calling for attention. How much could one little nibble possibly have hurt?
Apparently the brownies were destined for better things – such as a special layered dessert she was concocting for her grandfather’s visit on Monday. I’m sure my dad will appreciate it (he stops just short of licking the plate when Beth serves up her desserts) but still – I’m the mother, aren’t I? Where are my rights?
Grumbling (just a little) I sat down to draw the brownies, so that at least I could admire their dark lush chocolateyness and the sparkle of the white icing sugar sprinkled over the top … ahh …
Afterwards it seemed she was just teasing. We all went out to the movies and she packed us each individual brownies to go.
All is forgiven.