Every other day of the year it was just an ordinary kitchen. But on August 15th it became a combat zone. Broken eggshells… spilt milk… empty boxes of brownie mix… all scattered about the space like a crime scene.
Yet despite the mess, Janet didn’t mind. The alternative was worse.
Her loving, devoted husband was a man without taste proving it with his yearly selection of birthday gifts. And after a decade, she’d had enough.
Hints started dropping regularly. Nothing fancy or expensive. Just something homemade that satisfied her sweet tooth.
Finally, it clicked for him.
Make some damn brownies.
The Weekday One Hundred 