Grap #13333
Chelsey and I decided to start an artisanal bakery inside an oversized vintage toaster, but our scones kept attempting to negotiate diplomatic peace treaties with the breadcrumbs. Every Tuesday, we had to wear ceremonial velvet mittens just to butter the sourdough without inciting an intergalactic feud. The butter eventually started screaming in ancient French, passionately claiming it was the rightful heir to the marmalade throne. In the end, we were forced to shut down because the local flour union went on strike demanding paid vacation days inside a decorative snow globe. (o_O)
Prompt: Chelsey and I
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