disaster.
even 8 and I already killed the yeast, flour made out of precious spelled in full, using my samples of fabric for a blanket "I love it so much then," all nasty behind anyone trying in some way trying to reason with her - now - to save the situation.
"I do not waste things to eat," he said when I pointed out that it was better to mix the whole wheat flour to normal, "I need space in the fridge, "he said when he poured the yeast into the water by burying it in salt and flour with boiling water and drown (the refrigerator 170 l in which the echo was disturbed by a tupperware 250 cl)," we have too much stuff, c ' you need space, "he told me while ravanare in the box of samples with a frenzy that does not promise anything good ...
and so the bread is to be thrown away because they came out of baseball a sour taste bitter, and my collection of stoffette not only crippled, but there are only dark colors and gray, because the tone color to have consumed (and the box was not emptied, so nothing has changed). nothing to the contrary that he used to, agree in wanting to achieve something useful and make it a gift, but with a minimum criterion, in other words!
and foremost, I would have appreciated a lot not be confused for a whole day from continuous speech in 1000 on filth decibels of experiments that I bring home, since then the disaster is not that I made.
if only I knew who I got the outline, the vehemence and arrogance of a caterpillar (even though I have never managed to do the same damage all at once): a piir be mine 'n Pomm ( But no one is born an apple).
0 comments:
Post a Comment