The hell? How do you keep ending up in my pantry? I NEVER purchase you. I've donated you to the food bank at least three times. And yet here you are. Again. Stony, steadfast utterly useless. Baby corn, you are beginning to drive me insane.
Even if I wanted to use you, I wouldn't know how. Grill you and take tiny little bites? Put you in a blender, add yogurt and turn you into a smootie? I am at a loss.
Baby corn, your persistence is staggering. The can of water chesnuts with the dents: understandable. I bought those last year in what I've dubbed The Great Rumaki Experiment of 2008. It has become an upriorious, once-a-year pantry joke. The twelve cans of black beans? Leftovers from The Over-ambitious Chili Run of 2007. But you, Baby Corn? You're like an unwelcome spectre in a new home and you must be exorcised.
Please leave. 'K Thanks.
Sincerely,
Laura Francis
P.S. Take the can of mandarin oranges with you.
Sincerely,
Laura Francis
P.S. Take the can of mandarin oranges with you.
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