My journey to become the youngest grandma with no grandkids escalated as I experimented with some baking. Honestly... I was terrible. My parents endured brownies accidentally made with olive oil instead of vegetable oil. They were able to eat the crumbly wonders of my chocolate chip biscuits that I claimed were cookies. And although I knew that the food was terrible, they silently suffered until I finally understood the concept of a measuring cup.
When I went to college, it took me a few months before I worked up the courage to bring my knitting basket to school. In high school, people would joke and call me a grandma as I knitted in class, so moving to a new state and a new school, I really wanted to veer from the grandma reputation. However, that didn't last long. I soon gained the nickname "Memah" by two people who saw me knitting and received the "crazy grandma" award from my sisters in Tridelta. I have just decided to accept this. I am nineteen year old Memah...
I guess the moral of the most brief summary of my life that I could give you is, behind my sweet smile is a goofy weirdo who can't wait to make...something.
(This is a six layer s'more cake I saw on Pinterest, two layers of brownie, two layers of cookie cake, two layers of cheesecake, marshmallow filling, also with a graham cracker layer.)
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