Clad in pink t-shirt, low-slung midriff jeans, and spiky heeled boots, Brittany set her casserole down. It was the first casserole she had ever made. And she was proud of it. She had found the recipe on a can of green beans and carefully followed every step. The cream of mushroom soup. The French-fried onion rings she couldn’t resist. It would be the star of the pot-luck.
She nestled her casserole between vegetarian lasagna and lime-pineapple Jell-O salad. Proud of her work, she imagined placing a sign with her name on the dish. The sign would say, “Green Bean Casserole Lovingly Prepared by Brittany.” She resisted. Instead, she grabbed a chair close to the buffet.
Wrought with anticipation, she monitored the traffic closely. No one had yet braved a sample. She settled into a black beanbag chair. It is appropriate for a green bean casserole maker to sit in a black beanbag chair. There was chatter about a cute guy, but she only half listened. The guy was cute and was just her type, but she was intent on her casserole. Cute guys could wait.
Suddenly, someone scooped her casserole. It was the cute guy! She wondered how he’d managed to get inside without her noticing. She immediately perked up and watched him closely. No sooner had the guy placed the casserole on his sturdy disposable plate disaster struck. “What is this?? My plate is ruined! Who the heck doesn’t know that you are supposed to drain the green-bean water out of the green beans before you put them in the casserole!!! Look at this mess!!!”
Brittany was demoralized. The outburst had come from the cute guy. Escaping to the bathroom, Brittany burst into tears. Her first attempt at cooking had been a failure.
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