A baking story told in 8 parts. Part VI

At 3:45 p.m., I jumped in the shower.

Not only did I reek of butter and icing sugar, the whole house smelled of it, mixed with the astringent aroma of red wine vinegar (we’d had to put out bowls of the stuff to try to catch the infestation of fruit flies that had now pitched tents in all  rooms of the house and demanded to leave the Spike Channel on all day). Needless to say, between that and my nerves, I was feeling pretty queasy.

I hadn’t even thought about how I was going to get it all down to The Drake. At this point, I was just glad to have just made the deadline. I packaged up the little bastards and made my way down.

In rush hour traffic.