Sweet dreams
I’ve spent many a day imagining myself behind the counter of my very own bakery. Nothing fancy. A small shop, complete with a little kid who comes in every day to stare at the cream filled pastries.
In my dreams, I don a lovely little baker’s hat and a crisp clean apron. I spend my days baking dozens of breads and feeding my starter. When the crowds die down, I sip cocoa and enjoy one of my extra large freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. I use the most expensive butter and fly my pastry flour in from France.
The dreams never last very long, usually the phone rings or someone’s at the door or the lady in line behind me begins clearing her throat rather loudly, but they sure are sweet.
