Okay. So this is mostly supposed to be a baking blog, and I’ve told my self that I technically shouldn’t be posting about me and my problems, but about my glorious misadventures in
burning down the house baking.
Except, fuck it. It’s my blog, and WE’RE GONNA CELEBRATE BABY.
As I was doing paperwork for my father as a meager attempt to justify the spending money given to me by my parents (I’m a “millennial remember? I’m supposed to be lazy and ungrateful) my father comes in waving a huge envelope shaped suspiciously like a diploma.
“THIS IS THAT MY DIPLOMA?”
“Uh, ah dunno”
It is delivered to my hands, rain-stained and beautiful in it’s casing with my school logo emblazoned and my name on a mailing sticker.
I quickly tear open the package and free my diploma from its confinement.
In it’s glorious fucking majesty there laid my diploma in my hands. PROOF that I am smart enough to at least get a low paying job somewhere from bullshitting 60 page business reports.
It was the most beautiful thing I have seen all day.