Promise You Won't Be Mad

Those are never comforting words by the way.
I made zucchini bread the other day, and as the smell wafted through the house, it reminded me of the first time I made it back in my college apartment (which is different than my college house).

My roommate (Alison) and I were having friends come into town, so I was in hostess mode and making baked goods for our inevitably hung over asses. I decided to try my hand at a zucchini bread for some reason. When the bread came out of the oven, it smelled wonderful and it had risen enough that it cracked along the peak. I left the pan on the stove to cool and then left for work.

When I come home that night, I called out a "hi" to my roommate as I walk in the door. But instead of the normal "hi" back, I'm greeted with a sheepish:

A: "Promise you won't be mad at me."
Seeing she has all her limbs I figure this can't be too bad honestly.
But I still say, "what did you do?"
A: "Promise you won't be mad."
Me: "What did you do Alison?"
A: "Promise you won't be mad..."
Me: Well, I can't really promise that until I know what you did. But ok, I promise I won't be mad."
She leads me into the kitchen
A: "I, umm, sorta ate some of the zucchini bread..." ::voice trailing off::
I'm thinking oh is that it? And then I see why.

She had been nibbling on the bread by picking at the crack on top (I had too before I left though). And kept picking at it until there was a huge gully dug out. And once she realized there was a huge hole in the bread, she figured f*ck it, and just cut a slice.

I laughed so hard I cried.

She felt so bad though that she quickly made the cinnamon topped mini loves we had stored in the pantry shelve for months. But at least we had tons of baked goods for our hung over asses. And it was, indeed, awesome.