walk stumble through the kitchen. Last night’s sleep is still heavy on your eyelids and shoulders, and you grope almost blindly for the bag of coffee grounds and your brewing implement. After a few half-hearted swipes and a few hearted ones, you manage to wrangle the coffee.
Ten minutes later, caffeinated and on the ascent, you glance around the kitchen to gather inspiration for breakfast. On the baker’s rack, you see the airtight container in which you stored your extra buttermilk bacon-topped sticky rolls. Perfect. You approach. You can smell the cinnamon. The brown sugar. The… wait? You can smell them? Oh no! You forgot to properly seal the airtight container. The rolls are now staling. You curse yourself. You curse the container. You curse the gods who obviously hate you. You take it back. Quit blaming the gods, and (wo)man up. Those rolls were your responsibility and you failed them. You: