Let’s not talk about how many biscuits I ate this weekend. It was more than two and less than 100. I’m an adult that accepts responsibility for her choices. I have no regrets.
Biscuits are secular Communion. These came together in under an hour, measuring cup to plate. (“Plate” is obviously a technical term, Kat and I ate our first one standing over the stove.) They feel tradition worthy. Luckily, our gal Joy has plenty of biscuits to work through. I plan to fall on that sword.
These biscuits were the building block of a great Saturday. They helped determine that I would wake up at a reasonable time and go to early morning lap swim. The promise of these biscuits made me extra friendly and I forged a new acquaintance at the pool. These biscuits kept me full through a haircut (hello again, bangs!) and the crafting of my own liqueur. We even reconvened for a lazy Sunday morning in bed.
Biscuits make me a better person. We could all stand to be improved by biscuits.