Crying over Puffy Pretzels

Piece of advice: before you begin putting medication into your body, recommended by your trusted family doctor, do your research. Know all side effects, not only from taking the medicine, but from not taking the medicine, as well. 

As I've come to find out, it is the withdrawal that physically hurts the most. It's quite ironic that side effects from the medicine that is supposed to make me feel better are actually worse than the original symptoms. How does that work?

So, now I am crying. Constantly. Over anything and everything. If I see a baby - I cry. If I see a picture of a happy couple - I cry. If I see someone else cry - I cry. I'm watching reruns of an old season of America's Next Top Model, episodes I've seen so many times I could probably quote them. Someone gave Shandi a compliment - I cried.

Why?

This, as could be imagined, is very annoying. Not only for me, but Mr. Man, too - although I'm trying to save the tears for when he is not present.

 

However, last night, I failed. I decided to make some homemade pretzels, recipe courtesy of mi madre. When she made them - oh man, SO good. Mr. Man was in love.

Although I knew before I started that my rendition of homemade pretzels wouldn't hold a candle to momma's, I wanted to try anyway.

After letting the dough set up and double in size for almost an hour, I plunge my hands in to start forming the pretzels. 

It was like cake batter. Not a baker? Let me give you a hint: it's not supposed to look or feel like cake batter.

So, go figure, I cried ... and cried ... and cried. Mr. Man came in when he heard me sniffling. And, of course, we laughed at the dough-batter as it schlopped from my hands to the cookie sheet like poo. Yes. Very disgusting.

But, after some guidance from my mom, I added some serious flour to the dough-batter to not only keep it from conforming to my hands, but to allow me to twist it into a shape other than a blob.

In the end, I only had to throw away one batch of pretzels because they were as big as pillows. Ew. The remaining thousand that did work out weren't so bad after all. Mr. Man ate 8 of them for breakfast, so they couldn't have been too disgusting. Or maybe he was just being nice...