A Guide To Not Getting Tan

Last week went way too fucking fast.

Always nice how break does that. It knows that you want it to last, so it pulls a fast one and doesn't. I'm onto you, break. Next time I'm gonna make you last for three months. So take that.

And even though I didn't do anything but sit at home, it was an absolutely glorious week.

Glorious, yet I still feel lazy.

And I also spent the whole time in my basement, hence the whole "not getting tan" thing. Because if pop culture has taught me anything, the way to keep oneself pale is to stay in the basement all day.

So I'm going to rectify the fact that I feel unaccomplished and list the things that I did that make me feel as if my time was not wasted, but enjoyed instead.

I watched some fabulous movies and I will tell you how they were so that you can maybe watch them too, and I did some other stuff that's only neat in my little worldview but I think it's cool so if you don't you can just sod off.

Here are the movies and shows that I watched:

• My Blueberry Nights

What a wonderful movie. It's the kind of movie that I would even venture to call a film. It was short, and sweet, and real. The narrative was so honest and beautiful, I highly recommend it. It wasn't cheesy, though. You know me. I don't watch none of that cheesy shit.

• Midnight in Paris

I had been looking forward to watching this one for a really long time, but unfortunately I think it is one that I will never watch again (and if you know me, you know that not only do I avoid the cheesy shit, but I also watch movies that I like over and over and over), and for one reason alone: Owen Wilson.

I can't stand that dude. He inflects every single line the same way, with an upward trail and an unsure tone, so that even though the character he played was so sincere and genuine I still felt like he was a sleaze. And because 90% of the movie was Owen Wilson talking, I was not a fan.

Marion Cotillard, though, was phenomenal, as was Tom Hiddleston as F. Scott Fitzgerald and Allison Pill as his wife, and the array of actors that played all of the other historical characters and literary geniuses were all amazing. I wanted to punch Rachel McAdams in the face the whole time, but that was her character's fault, not hers.

Overall, I guess I would still recommend it. Woody Allen creates some beautiful things, and this is still one of them, despite what I consider a drastic casting mistake. So watch it once, at least.

• Winter's Bone

If you ever feel like your life sucks, just go ahead and watch this so then you can slap yourself for even thinking it. Jennifer Lawrence's performance is absolutely great (um, duh) and the whole storyline is so tragic that it makes the tiny elements of beauty that do exist just shine that much brighter. It's not a light movie, and it made both my brother and my dad uncomfortable to watch (ninnies), but it's still just so good.

• Freaks and Geeks

This is an old (and by old I mean 90s old) television show, starring James Franco and Jason Segel and that chick that played the murdering stepdaughter in Legally Blonde and kind of looks like Ellen Page. There are only 18 episodes (I say only because that makes me feel better about watching the whole series in three days) and it's on Netflix, and since we all know that nobody gets anything done anymore because Netflix is too addicting you may as well just watch it.

They do a lot of drugs.

• Howl

Welcome back, James Franco! This one was on Netflix too, and is about Allen Ginsberg's life and his most famous poem, Howl, as well as the controversy that surrounded it and its alleged obscenity. 

It had a really interesting style, and felt sort of like a documentary even though everyone in it was an actor and it was all written and scripted. It went between an interview with Ginsberg, played by Franco, and the courthouse proceedings about Howl, with occasional excerpts of the poem read by Franco and accompanied by these funky illustrations.

I learned a lot about Ginsberg, came to respect him even more (was that even possible?) and would definitely recommend it to other literary nerds out there (I know there are some of you reading this, I mean, you're friends with me after all).

And hey, I read a book too! I read the Lord of the Flies, mostly because I had five other books that I hadn't read yet and then I left them all in my dorm room. I was so angry. But Lord of the Flies was good. It made me depressed at the state of human nature. I wanted Jack to fall off a cliff and die, or get left behind when they got rescued. Or he could have gotten crushed by a rock. I would have been okay with that.

I also spent the majority of two days sewing a shirt, and if you say that's lame then I will repeat my previous instruction: sod off. I think it's neat and you're probably just jealous that you can't do it too.

Unless you're a guy. If you're a guy and you say that you should sew a shirt too, I will tell you a very firm no way and try to send you on home with your manhood still intact.

It turned out pretty well, though, for the first time. Wanna see? Of course you do.

This is my snarky camera face because I have a hard

time smiling when I take pictures of myself

wearing clothes. I know, leave me alone.

Yep, looks awesome, I know, and please don't tell me any differently because it made my hands cramp and I need to feel like it was worth it that's all.

Other, than that, I slept a lot, because you never know how much you love your nice bed at home until you sleep on a rock in the dorms and then being at home is like a 24/7 sleep fest.

I drank a bit of wine water (thanks Mom (or Jesus)) and ate Chinese food and went to my favorite chocolate shop in Boulder and didn't get on Tumblr for the whole week and caught up with some old friends and played a lot of xbox.

Now I'm nice and rejuvenated so that spring quarter can hit me in the face with homework. Yay! Thanks, DU!

On a side note to that, my suitemate and I have decided that we go to a school of special little snowflakes, because every time I meet a new person they're always nice and at the same time very odd.

I enjoy it.

Happy spring, everybody.

Step Back For A Week

Spring break is coming up in a week and a half.

A week and a half.

And I'm actually excited to go home. Tie up the strings of this quarter at school and just leave for a week.

Because though my dorm room is already pretty clean, I think it may be time for some emotional spring cleaning, too.

I'm in one of those places right now where things are necessarily going right, and I don't really have anything to be super happy about, but I'm content. I don't mind when the things go wrong because I can shrug them all off, and sometimes it's the little things like a chocolate chip muffin and caramel latte at noon that can make a day.

A snack... or my lunch? WHO KNOWS.

Sure, my emotional state will appreciate being at home and by myself... playing with my dog, spending time with my xbox parents (hi mom and dad), and maybe teaching myself how to sew, but I guess I don't really need it. 

Yet I am watching so many people around me in my life who do need it, and I hope for their sake that they take the chances to hang out at home, the chances to isolate themselves and be selfish for once, the chances to figure out what in their lives is and isn't making them happy and get rid of the things that are keeping them from being content.

So often, social media does nothing but indulge unhappiness. Something frustrating you? Blog passively about it. Tweet your rants. Look for other people with the same unhappiness, and commiserate with them. You will feel better.

That feeling doesn't last; it's like a drug. Hitting the send button feels so good, but once it's sent the feelings behind it are still there, and actually stronger than before. 

If you learn to let things go, you won't have anything to tweet about or any topic on which to blog. You will be content, and happy with the way things that are going, and you won't feel the need to constantly poison yourself with the knowledge that both you and the internet are aware of your acute unhappiness.

Does that really seem so bad?

If you prefer to love too much rather than not at all, go for it. Love. But actually love. And if something doesn't qualify as love, let it go.

Too many knuckles are turning white from holding on to dust bunnies.

It's spring cleaning; let them go.

10 Things That Suck But You Really Can't Avoid Them

So tonight I had a really great idea for a story, and I got all super motivated and was like hey I'm gonna write a story! and then I realized that the reason I write all of my super great ideas down is because none of them are really a story, and one of these days I'll get enough super great ideas that I can weave them all into one giant story and it will be the weirdest story anyone has ever read! and you all will love it not read it.

Now that I have your attention (and have probably confused you) I will take this chance to say that I was going to blog about the Oscars, but I'm not, so you're welcome.

Instead I will blog about things that suck.

Like that intro.

And particularly those things that happen all the time and are completely unavoidable, because they really happen through no fault of your own, but they are awfully awkward nonetheless and must be endured on a daily (or at least biweekly) basis.

Number one:

Sniffling.

It's winter, you just had to walk across campus at an alarming rate to make it to your next class, and the cold air has made it so that your nose is not only numb, but also running. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

You get to class, sit in the middle of a bunch of quiet people, and ineffectively sniffle for the next ten to fifteen minutes, depending on how much your body hates you that day. Because no matter how much you sniffle, it doesn't help. The sniffles have decided that they want to stay, and until your body magically makes them poof disappear when you stop paying attention, you will forever be that annoying kid sitting in a quiet lecture hall, sniffling every thirty seconds.

You feel bad, but you can't stop it. The tiny gnomes who live in your nose (I know, worst job ever) are intentionally leaving the faucet on in there (probably as payback for having the shittiest job ever) and no matter how valiantly you sniffle, it's ultimately up to them as to when things will dry up in there.

Now that I've left you with that charming mental image, we'll move on to number two:

"What's up?"

The question that everyone asks when they walk past somebody that they know on campus, because what else are you supposed to do? You could just say "hey," but that is a cursed greeting. Never have I heard someone casually greet another with no others words than "hey" and sound anything but insincere. Voice pitch changes and gets higher and sweeter, the look on your face turns to that of a kicked puppy, and the "hey" comes out as more of a "We never talk anymore what's happened to us we used to talk I wish this wasn't the only thing I had to say to you hey."

It's sickeningly sweet. And no, I'm not over-generalizing. I never do that.

If you follow the "hey" with a "what's up," your voice will become your own again. But there's a minor problem.

Nobody actually cares what's up.

Same with "how are you?" Ask either of these questions and prepare to hear a pre-programmed response that just comes out like a reflex: "Not much. I'm good."

Because who wants to hear "I'm doing all right, but I twisted my knee twerking in my room and I got so distracted that I couldn't eat a proper dinner, so now I'm kind of hungry and really wish that I could just order a quesadilla for delivery because I don't know how to make one and we're out of ramen."

Okay, I would like to hear that. I could make fun of that person forever.

Point is, you have to ask it to avoid awkwardness, but the fact that nobody really gives a fuck what your answer is makes it even more awkward. Unavoidable, I'm telling you.

That's why I'm starting a movement to make "'sup" an acceptable thing for white girls to say. It's both a greeting and a question, but nobody expects an answer. Bam. problem solved.

This is getting too long already. I have eight more things. I'll hurry up, I promise.

Number three:

When somebody you know is walking the same direction as you and ends up walking even with you, so you have no choice but to talk to them until one of you reaches your destination even if you don't like them at all and have nothing to say to them but can't really just ignore them.

Enough said. Moving on. Number four:

Elevator rides.

There is literally no way to make an elevator ride with strangers not awkward.

You're in a tiny, enclosed box with shiny walls. If you look at the wall, it looks like you're trying to stare at their reflection. If you look at the floor, you look like you probably need some therapy to deal with that crippling shyness you suffer from. If you look at them or try to talk to them... well that's just weird, and you should probably stop.

I've noticed that almost everybody takes out their cell phones within seconds of the doors closing. And I don't blame them. Because even if you have nothing to do on it, you can always check the weather or look at the instagram pictures that you've already seen the other two times you were in the elevator today.

Or you could make small talk about the weather, like the boy in the rangers hat, and then forget to press the button for my floor so I awkwardly end up two floors higher with my laundry basket in my hands and a lounge full of people staring at me.

Soooo yep. Number five:

The abominable noise that your jaw makes when chewing chips.

There's definitely a reason the English call them crisps. They're loud as fuck and yet so delicious.

That doesn't actually explain why they're called crisps... I don't know. Whatever. They're deafening.

Most of the time, chips are eaten in a social setting: at parties, during movies, during meals (duh), doing homework, you name it. And because the setting is one with food, people are usually too busy stuffing their faces to really make much noise talking. So everyone can hear you chew.

I have the same problem with bagels. I blame my dad for the noisy jaw genes. Thanks, Dad. And I'm sorry, everyone else. I can't help it.

Another noise that is entirely too annoying and only makes itself heard when around other people, number six:

Squeaky shoes.

Not many shoes have this problem, and most of the are flip flops which are noisy anyway so nobody really notices when a squeak is added to the FLIP. FLOP. FLIP. FLOP. SCUFF (as you trip yourself) FLIP. FLOP.

But when they do? Oh. Man.

I have one pair of Vans that's just old enough that they feel broken in, but not yet quite old enough, because they sound like I have a pair of mice taped to my feet every time I take a step. It's not really noticeable outside, but I just know that the R.A.'s judge me the whole silent 100 feet from the front door of the lobby to the doors of the elevators.

Although I do act like a 5-year old sometimes, so I guess the squeaky shoes fit the bill.

Because I'm great at transitioning, here's the entirely unrelated number seven:

Facebook birthdays.

I did a big, brave thing today: I wished two people happy birthday on Facebook. Two people!

And this is a big deal for me because terrible as it may be, I am in the habit of never wishing anybody a happy birthday on Facebook, because then everybody knows that I wished that person a happy birthday and wonders what they didn't wrong when I don't post some generic "aaaay happy birthday" on their wall.

(Okay, I know that's a lie. I bet nobody actually cares if I posted on their wall or not. Whatever. Humor me.)

Plus, half of the people that wish their Facebook friends happy birthday don't really give a damn and only do it because their Facebook sidebar tells them to.

"happy birthday" is not a real well-wish, just so you all know.

If you post that on my wall for my birthday we're not friends any more.

And if you don't post anything I'll cry myself to sleep wondering what I did wrong, softly sobbing whyyyy...yyyy...yyyyyyy.....

And then I will unfriend you. Unless number eight:

I can't because you like me more than I like you and I know that you'll notice and just re-add me later.

I'm probably a bad person for writing about cruel things that I do on Facebook and then posting the link to my blog on Facebook, but as you're all Facebook users yourselves you'll know what I'm saying when I say that there are some people who you really don't care about, so much that you've even blocked them from your news feed, but you just. can't. delete them.

I think that's really all I need to say here. If I start providing examples I'll really get myself into trouble.

So here we are, for the three of you still reading at this point: the final unavoidable conundrum that sucks quite a bit and I probably should have put earlier because the people who have stopped reading by now would probably have agreed with me:

Number ten: Not being able to shut the fuck up.

There's word vomit, and there's nervous talking, and then there are times when you know that the people you're talking to don't care and you don't really want to keep talking but for some reason, you do. I just have so much to say.

Except the part that sucks is that none of what you're saying actually matters, and nobody cares, and even you don't care, and yet you just can't bring yourself to stop. Such as this blog post, that probably should have ended a long time ago but for some reason my fingers just keep typing.

One of these days college will teach me how to shut the fuck up.

But for now, it's just teaching me how to make things longer.

And aren't I good at it.

As a nice little update, wanna know what else I'm good at? Counting. There are only nine things on here. I won't tell if you won't.

I Failed At Break

When you're living in the dorm over break, it feels like you are actually the only person in the whole building. Nobody's on the elevator, nobody's in the lounge, nobody's walking around, and there are about 7 cars in the whole parking lot.

It's weird.

So when I got in the elevator tonight and it was actually full, it was like Christmas.

Except with more people. And less presents. And more smelly elevators.

And by less presents I mean no presents.

Why don't people on the elevator give me presents.

They should start doing that.

Anyway, there were a couple guys that actually weren't Asian in there, and I was the only girl.

(Seriously. This school makes me feel so racist. There are just so many Asians.)

They were pretty excited when I got in the elevator. I mean, I would be too. Have you seen me recently? Kidding. So totally kidding. I look like a train wreck at this point in the evening.


Guy 1: Alriiiight

Guy 2: Party in this elevator

Guy 3: Woop woop

Me: Yeah, this is the first time there have actually been other people in the elevator with me in, like, two months

Guy 2: Did you stay here over break?

Me: Yep. Ghost town

Guy 3: Yeah it's so barren

Guy 1: Except for the crazy sex parties

Everyone else: ...

Me: Guess I didn't get invited to any of those

Guy 1: Too bad

Guy 1: They're super great

Guy 1: You missed out

Guy 1: Well have a good night


I love socializing in college. It's like a whole new universe.

Also, I apparently failed at break. I'll do better next time.

Spring break 2013, WATCH OUT.

Non-Resolutions

Every once in a while, everyone needs an existential crisis.

But the notion that everyone have their crisis on the morning that they're most likely still drunk on the last year and forced to wear sunglasses inside for the dawning of a new one is bullheaded and for people with a better memory than I have.

I mean, I'm 18 and I still can't remember to floss every day.

So I don't do resolutions. They're a petty formality and nobody sticks to them.

Plus, the idea of unique resolutions becomes profuse when they all say "go to the gym, lose 10 pounds, and stop eating so much ice cream." Please. Nobody is ever going to stop eating ice cream.

My 2013 started the same way my 2012 ended, and there is nothing to separate it from any year before it but the date I write on my papers.

Yet lately I've had the strongest urge to cleanse it all. Live life to the fullest, sure, take chances, yeah yeah, be healthy and feel good about myself, whatever.

But do it differently than I did before.

I'm going to try some things, I'm going to live selfishly (because it's my life so why the hell shouldn't I,) and I'm going to eat ice cream every fucking day if I want to. I'm going to talk to who I want and not talk to who I want, and I'm going to do the things that I know I love without paying any heed to the love that may not be real, but in fact residual.

I'm going to keep writing crappy poetry and I'm going to hug my teddy bear while watching movies by myself whenever I damn well please.

And if I want to ignore you?

So what.

It's 2013, bitches.

A Spoonful of Wishful Thinking

Some time
at a stop sign
wait a minute
until the dull roar becomes a hum
and then a murmur
(you will be invisible
if only for
a moment)
and when the engine cools
and stops its sputtering
and you wake up
there may be cars
waiting
for you to go go go
or you may find yourself
blissfully alone
at a crossroad
one foot on the gas
all because you listened
to a stop sign.

I'm Gonna Go Live In a Cave Where Strangers Don't Exist to Write About

"Make a blog!" they said.

"It will be fun!" they said.

"No one will read it!" I said.

WRONG. SO TERRIBLY WRONG.

Because you will write about a certain club goalie from Utah, and then you will become friends with him and he will find it and share it with the internet and you will never be able to talk to him again.

And then his friend will also share it and then you will have lots of people knowing how embarrassing and awkward you are. AND I AM REALLY EMBARRASSING AND AWKWARD.

So, um, you're welcome, world.

Brace yourselves.

Yeah, Frankie

Since I came to college, I have developed a somewhat unhealthy obsession with hockey. I mean, I always liked it, but now we have a team and I have a suitemate who loves it and essentially, DU is just enabling me. Not that I'm complaining. It's beautiful.

And as any hockey fan ever will tell you, this lockout fucking SUCKS. Only two college games a week, that's all we get to watch? NEVERRRR.

So we go to club games.

And we get sassy.

Because it's club hockey.

And it's allowed there.

The first club game I went to was a couple weeks ago, and we played Weber State. Bunch of Utah mormons. You know, casual.

Of course, I use the term "played" very loosely. I got there at the beginning of the second period, and we were already losing by like seven goals. And I say like because it was a while ago and I don't really remember. But we were not really playing hockey, we were just kind of smacking a black thing around with a stick and skating in circles and being pretty.

(I like how I use "we" as if I'm actually on the team. Lol, as if.)

We were sitting in the student section, a.k.a. our section since we're basically their only fans that aren't related by blood, which is right behind the opposing team's goalie for two of the three periods.

I mentioned that we get sassy, right?

We spent the whole time heckling him and chirping him and just basically being obnoxious, because he could hear everything we were saying and he could react, too, since he essentially had the game in the bag at this point (it was 9-0) and didn't exactly have to pay great attention.

He would turn around and wink at us when he was getting a drink or grin when he was skating around during breaks and at one point we did something particularly obnoxious and he picked up a bunch of snow on his stick and flipped it at the glass.

He was such a flirt. We had good fun. Ah, hockey.

When there were only a few minutes left and we still hadn't scored yet, we started begging him to let in one goal, just one, for us, pleeeease, and then he DID. And he turned around and winked at us afterward like "hey, you're welcome."

Coolest club goalie award.

Anyway, that was a few weeks ago, and then (because we have nothing else to do over break) my suitemate Meghan, her friend Laurel and I were planing on going to this week's club games. And Friday at 2 p.m. was Weber State.

So we did what any reasonable hockey fan would do and we made him a sign.

It looked a little something like this:

Then we took it to the game yesterday, and felt super awkward because we were basically the only DU fans and there were lots of Weber fans and some girls were giving us weird looks when we were standing on their side during warmups.

We decided the best course of action would be to wait until he was on our side (we were in JBA, not Magness, and it's a very inconvenient arena. There are no sections behind the goalies, and the home side is technically the away side... I don't know. Club hockey problems) and then we would hold it up when he wasn't doing anything.

Unfortunately, DU actually played well. Which was awesome, but it also meant that the damn goalie was paying attention to the game and not us. What the hell. There were only a couple times when he glanced over, and we were only holding it up one of those times, and he didn't see it. Anger and disappointment.

But, like the dedicated fans we are, we waited around after the game (as awkwardly as possible) and got really (awkwardly) excited every time a Weber player came out only to get equally as (awkwardly) disappointed every time we realized it wasn't him. He was the only one with a beard. Hard to miss.

After we saw our goalie with hair that looks like it belongs in a Pantene commercial (according to Laurel) come out, we decided we had probably missed our man because our little goalie takes longer than a girl in the locker room and there was no way anybody was left at that point.

Luckily, we were wrong! Before we had actually left, when we were standing outside trying to decide on our dinner plans, our good ol' Weber goalie came walking out to his bus holding all of his equipment and looking very sad. He let in two goals and his team lost. It was a rough time for him.

He was so soft-spoken and sweet, totally not what I expected from a guy who would flip snow at the girls on the other side of the glass, but he signed our poster for us. The conversation went roughly like this:


Me: Hey, you're the goalie right?

Him: ...yeah.....

Me: We made you a sign

His teammates: YEAH FRANKIE! GET SOME

Laurel: Because of last game

Me: And we tried to hold it up for you, but you didn't see it

His teammates: OH MY GOD FRANKIE

Laurel: So... will you sign it for us? *holds out a Sharpie*

Me: Sorry, we know you have a lot of equipment and stuff right now

Him: Haha, no, it's fine, sure I'll sign it for you *signs our beautiful poster*

Me: Thanks! Have a good night!

Laurel: We appreciate the goal last time!

His teammates: FRANKIEEEE


We just made that goalie the coolest man on his team. Probably forever.

And if that seems questionable to you, prepare to be wrong.

Suite 403: Making losses easier to deal with since... well, since yesterday.

I'm Gonna Vom On Your Bed

And tonight on Disney channel (and by Disney channel I mean some other channel where inappropriate jokes and swearing are allowed) we bring you a new show...

That's So College!

(I sincerely hope you sang that and then snapped your fingers and made some sassy black girl head movement. That's not racist, it's just Raven.)

The gist of the show is that a lot of things get said that, out of context, really don't make much sense, and in context, don't make sense either! It's great!

We get to do great things like ask Sydney to never say "vom" ever again, and then spend the next five minutes getting a seemingly never-ending string of texts from her just saying "vom vom vom vom vom" until you think you actually may drive to Evergreen and break her phone.

Hear that, Sydney?

Lucky for her, I don't have a car (...yet. Next time).

We also get to internet stalk hockey players, watch videos of their bad commercials that they probably wish nobody knew about, and google their faces on the computer instead of on Meghan's phone so she doesn't get embarrassed in the press box (which has never happened, I don't know what you're talking about).

Tonight's episode: In which a tin of cookies appears, we all move our chairs closer to the table on which they're sitting in order the optimize the cookie-to-mouth ratio, and I do yoga in the middle of the lounge.

And we watch the entirety of Robin Sparkles' video just so we can hear Canadians say "aboot."

You're welcome, fourth floor.

I Just Wanted a Bite

In my room, we bake almost every weekend.

It's pretty much a ritual at this point. Tradition. Routine. Whatever you want to call it.

And we usually make super awesome things, like brownie cheesecake sundaes, or pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies, or chocolate cookies that needed cocoa powder but we didn't have any so we used hot chocolate mix instead, or other delicious baked goods that require sharing.

We make them (I make them (Meghan helps (Sydney watches))) and then we take them around the floor to anybody who's home and make them eat our delicious food or else.

Jokes, we don't have to force them to eat it. They usually just eat it without any encouragement at all. Like the time that the plate left our room with over three dozen cookies, and came back with five. Like that.

This morning I made Oreo brownie cupcakes. And yes, they are as good as they sound. They're so delicious, in fact, that I didn't want to take them anywhere, and instead merely texted the boys on our floor saying if they wanted one they had better come get it, because I sure as hell was not going to be bringing one to their door.

Logan came by twice, both times while I was on the phone with my mom (on separate occasions, incidentally), Jacques got one after we went skating, Kyle just somehow knew there were delicious things in my kitchen even though I don't have his number and showed up to get one. You know, the usual.

Then tonight, my suitemate walks into the kitchen and goes "...Emma? Did you take a few bites out of one of these?"

Umm... no. No I did not. But sure enough, there is a brownie cupcake in our kitchen with two bites out of the side of it... just sitting on the plate with all of the rest.

Boys. You are supposed to eat the whole cupcake.

Who does that? They're like children who don't know that this isn't actually their kitchen, and therefore they can't just leave their half eaten cupcake on a plate and come back for it later.

On the plus side, they loved them and they all said thank you.

At least their mothers taught them something.