When you open up the fridge you’ll see the situation and
announce to the whole house:
“AWWWW SHIT.”
Your husband will come running up from the basement, where
he was working on some fucking nerd job, we don’t really know. When he sees you standing there with a carton
of heavy cream in one hand and a sack of sugar in the other, he’ll know it’s
on.
“Oh shit,” he’ll mutter before starting to head back
downstairs. “It’s on.”
You won’t even notice his brief intrusion, you’ll be so
preoccupied with pouring both the sugar and the cream into a steel mixing
bowl. Then you’ll get a whisk and begin
whisking.
You’ll whisk and whisk, then whisk some more. When you’ve done that for like twenty
straight minutes, you’ll take a break and check the consistency of the
cream. It won’t quite be airy enough, so
after five minutes of letting your hand cool off, you’ll return to the process
of whisking.
When you’re finished you’ll pop the metal bowl in the
fridge, where it will cool, where the air will be trapped and make the whipped
cream delightfully heavy.
“That’s right mother fucker,” you’ll murmur at the fridge,
grabbing your crotch as you walk away.
Congratulations on Whisking Your Problems Away!
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