(no subject)
Nancy was in rare form this morning. Maybe it was because she'd gotten in here early and had already had three cups of coffee while doing a crossword puzzle from a book she'd gotten from the bookshelf (her best find in ages!). So by the time she started cooking she already had a good buzz, and a pretty good mood.
She was even carrying on a one-sided conversation with the ghost she was convinced was hanging out in the kitchen ever since her poltergeist-moment last week. "I'm making mango pancakes," she warned as she cracked an egg into a bowl. "If you make me fuck these up, I'm going to fuck you up." It was a bit of an empty threat, but it made her feel better.
"Do you dance?" she asked. "Like Casper? Or those ghosts in the Haunted Mansion in Disneyland?"
She started swinging her hips a little as she stirred together flour, egg whites, cinnamon, and milk. This was the sort of thing she used to do when her life was in a better place - when Judah was alive, before she had to deal with drive-by shootings or magic islands - dancing and singing while she cooked.
"Billy Ray was a preacher's son, and when his daddy would visit he'd come along..."
She kept singing as she chopped mangos, pausing to lean over and unhook the straps on her shoes and kick them off, as barefoot was much more conducive to not falling on her ass. She stirred a few of the mangos into the batter and then used the spoon as a microphone.
"The only one who could ever reach me... was the son of a preacher man... the only boy who could ever teach me... was the son of a preacher man..."
[OOC: Tuesday morning meal post! Tag Nancy, or tag each other (feel free to assume that she's finished the pancakes and is no longer acting so nuts.)]
She was even carrying on a one-sided conversation with the ghost she was convinced was hanging out in the kitchen ever since her poltergeist-moment last week. "I'm making mango pancakes," she warned as she cracked an egg into a bowl. "If you make me fuck these up, I'm going to fuck you up." It was a bit of an empty threat, but it made her feel better.
"Do you dance?" she asked. "Like Casper? Or those ghosts in the Haunted Mansion in Disneyland?"
She started swinging her hips a little as she stirred together flour, egg whites, cinnamon, and milk. This was the sort of thing she used to do when her life was in a better place - when Judah was alive, before she had to deal with drive-by shootings or magic islands - dancing and singing while she cooked.
"Billy Ray was a preacher's son, and when his daddy would visit he'd come along..."
She kept singing as she chopped mangos, pausing to lean over and unhook the straps on her shoes and kick them off, as barefoot was much more conducive to not falling on her ass. She stirred a few of the mangos into the batter and then used the spoon as a microphone.
"The only one who could ever reach me... was the son of a preacher man... the only boy who could ever teach me... was the son of a preacher man..."
[OOC: Tuesday morning meal post! Tag Nancy, or tag each other (feel free to assume that she's finished the pancakes and is no longer acting so nuts.)]