I thought I had my plan all together.
I had grown so much during the summer, ready to take on the rest of the year.
And then, three days into school, my plans all fell apart.
The show I wanted to make? I didn't.
Sorority rush? Didn't happen either.
Having the knack to balance out my classes? Please. Not possible.
Being in control of my life? I am out of control.
All I wanted to do was to have something concrete that I felt good about, something that still made me feel accomplished. The gym is fine and all, but you can only go so much. The scene shop...well I can't even hold a drill straight. Drugs? Well that's not my thing either. I'm not really into the whole grinding minerals into a plastic bag sort of thing. I grew up with peanut butter and jelly for lunch.
And then one day, in stagecraft class (God help us all for assigning me to be in the scene shop), some guy cracked some sexist joke about women working in the kitchen, while another said "well we know that you ladies like to bake and all." That's when it hit me. Why not hit up the kitchen a little? Damnnit, I'm taking up baking. I'm trading in the script for the spatula and starting a movement. Who cares if it is sexist? Who cares if people claim I'm becoming a housewife? Those who cannot use the stove cannot complain, and while you are at it, pick up a cookie on your way out the door, maybe it will sweeten you up some!
After that day, I have been making all kinds of cookies, from sugar (my favorite) to even pink funfetti for Breast Cancer Awareness (my roommate is a Zeta and their philantrophy is Susan J. Komen Breast Cancer for the Cure), and I even made lovely blueberry muffins for that Stagecraft class that inspired me to take up baking. After one bite, they were forever silenced. Thanks Betty once again! You're a life saver.
