Sometimes, living alone is a challenge. For instance, it’s hard to cook for one person and there’s no one to trick into doing the dishes or folding the laundry (my cats have, thus far, proven to be terrible maids). If, like me, you’re a single, shall we say far-from-strong woman, it’s even harder. Large grocery trips can be sweat-inducing and every year, some time in mid-May, installing my window unit AC makes me see God. More often than not, though, living alone makes me feel self sufficient and proud, because all those things that are challenges or dude tasks? Well I can do those, without help.
I’m one of those girls that cannot be left alone with a jar of peanut butter and a spoon; a girl can do some damage, I’m telling you.. Reese’s peanut butter cups were among the untradable candies in my halloween bag and there are several things that are not allowed to coexist in my apartment with a jar of peanut butter: wheat thins, pretzels, and, God forbid, an open bag of chocolate chips. I’ve been told that the love of PB is a distinctly American trait; the rest of the world just doesn’t understand. Well, as as far as I’m concerned, they don’t have to.
Baking is supposed to be fun. Sure, sometimes its nice to make a fancy-schmancy souffles and multi-layer frosted sculptures, but sometimes? Sometimes you just want some peanut butter cookies. And some bacon. Together.