This is a one-time thing. I don’t do repeats, no matter what.
Which is totally fine, right? I wouldn’t want a repeat.
Right?
“Mom, what’s that smell?” Madden asks, snapping me back to the present, which features the distinctive odor of burning pancake.
“Shit!” I cry, running back into the kitchen in time to prevent a fire, but not to save the charred pancakes on the griddle.
As I’m scraping those pancakes into the trash and starting a new set, I realize that not only was I clutching a spatula throughout the entire conversation with Sawyer, I was also wearing my rubber-duck shorty pajamas and a gag apron that Trevor gave me for Christmas two years ago that says, Ask me about my explosive diarrhea.
I guess humiliation is going to be the name of this particular game.