I wanted make something rhubarb.
I picked some rhubarb (some of which was pooped on by a bird).
I washed the rhubarb.
I found a rhubarb recipe.
It was called Rhubarb Crisp, which I consistently mis-pronounce as Crips.
It was easy.
I cut the rhubarb into little chunks.
I found a cute heart shaped baking dish.
I wanted to use it to make heart-shaped rhubarb crisp for Jim, because I HEART him.
It was not a glass cake pan.
Or a metal one.
It was a plastic type material.
I lost the instructions for how to use it.
Jim said it might melt.
I said who would make a cake pan that melted.
I filled it with yummy cakey goodness.
And put it in the 375 degree oven and set the timer for 30 minutes.
We went for a walk.
We enjoyed the fireflies.
Upon entering the house, we didn't smell yummy rhubarb crisp.
It smelled like burnt plastic.
I felt like a dork.
I took some pictures...might as well.
It didn't melt onto the oven's bottom...for that, I was glad.
The electricity went out - a frequent occurence in our town.
We cleaned up.
In the dark.
We ate still yummy rhubarb crisp, by candlelight.
It was romantic.