“Nobody has to eat these,” I said as I laid a platter of strange-looking mess on the table. “They were supposed to be pumpkin fritters, but it didn’t work.”
I served myself a bunch, though, because I hate to throw away food. Then I started mumbling over them.
“Oh gar, i’ so good.”
“Auf. It’s like IHOP hashbrowns.”
Because I’m bashful and modest like that.