“Ice cream.”
“Lettuce.” Kat corrected, scribbling on her notepad. “Apples. Oranges. Avocado.”
“Microwaveable food.” I countered, licking my lips at the mere anticipation of buying it.
Kat blanched in disgust. “Spinach. Tomato.”
I clapped my hands together, an idea in mind. “Chocolate bars. Gummy worms.”
“Asparagus. Broccoli. Beets.” She continued, ignoring me as she listed off what seemed to be random vegetables and fruits.
“Beets?” I questioned. My parents weren’t always present in my childhood nor were my other relatives. At the age of three, I saw my nanny more than anyone else. By ten years old, I was deemed mature and behaved enough not to need anyone to stay with me.
I’ve always been an adequate cook. I could easily make basic things but I am a lazy, lazy girl. I discovere
