ME: So I spent a good quarter of an hour hunting down my copy of Mary Poppins.
IM: Why on earth would you want to read that piece of shit?
ME: HEY.
IM: No, listen. That thing is filled with bigotry, biases, racism, and god knows what else.
JB: Methinks she wanted to read it for the cakes.
IM: PLEASE don’t tell me you wanted to read it for the cakes.
ME: Well, I did! I remembered the raspberry-jam-cakes and I was dying to know what they were, thank you very much.
JB: And plum cakes with pink frosting and coconut cakes.
IM: How on earth do you remember it in such detail?!
JB: When I read it, those sounded delicious. Until, of course, my dear mother deflated my childhood dreams by kindly informing me that the raspberry jam cakes that Mary enjoys so much are actually Victorian sandwiches with raspberry jam. After that all magic faded into oblivion.
ME: Oh! And the gingerbread. Don’t forget the gingerbread.
IM: … now you’re making me hungry. And please do realise that my mother, who has baked all those things throughout my life, are HOURS AWAY.