Rising Dough

I’m so tired of the rutine, doing the same job, walking on the same streets, eating basically the same. My heart is screaming for a change! An adventure, something!!!

I don’t make enough to need a tax office to file for me (ironically, the owner pays me cash), but if ya’ll need an accountant why the fuck do you need to be reminded by a man in a Statue of Liberty costume holding a big sign? Rhetorical question. Today I quit to find adventure.

There are a million costumes I can wear, and a million signs I can hold. But I really want to be a baker! I can mold flour and water into the staff of life.

I supposed, if the pay was good enough, I could wear a costume while I baked. Holding a sign would be more difficult; I might be able to use it as a cookie sheet but then no one could read it. Letters made of cookie doe, maybe?

That is what I’ll do! I get dressed into my sexy lingerie maid outfit and start mixing all of the ingredients. I then line out the cookie dough so it says, “Subscribe to my only fans”, when it is done baking on the metal sign. I shake my ass as I put it in the oven, when...

a strange man in denim overalls burst into the kitchen. “Been watching you for years,” he said. “They’re not ready,” I mumble, gesturing toward the oven. “There’s raw egg in the dough.” “My name’s Liam and I’m your only fan,” he said caressing my duster. “I’ll take the risk.”