Last night, I ingested a tablespoon of Cinnamon. It wasn't because I wanted to, nor because I had a particular craving for a whole lot of spice at one time or because I missed the Fall and yearned to recreate it on my palate. No, my dear reader, it was because my new boss put me up to it and threw in the entire contents of his pockets if I was successful, which was extremely unlikely as many have attempted the "Cinnamon Challenge" but few have reigned supreme. So, with a sous chef in tow, we ventured outside the empty restaurant, into the alley, where I held the tablespoon as if it were full of botulism. After some discussion with the sous chef who had defeated the challenge about dos and don'ts (DO- wait to swallow, DON'T breathe in, if possible), I knocked back the pantry mainstay. Two minutes later, I walked back into the restaurant $29.35 richer.
The Writing huntress
I hunt. I write. I wear what some consider an unnecessary amount of camouflage face paint.