“Yo laddy doe, dee diddly day! A cooking I'll do, 'cause food is A-OK!” You sing to yourself as you bust the croissant mix into a bowl and pour your Earth Angel goo all over it. A mixin' and a meldin' all tha live long day. You keep singing, and slopping away. Your mood becomes more rowdy and boisterous, the slop begins to spill out of the bowl in your childish exuberance. You do not care. You are performing adult on this kitchen all over the place, and you are so gull dern proud of yourself, you care not what becomes of the excess food mush. Well... not until your mother arrives home to you brazenly skipping across the kitchen with wooden spoon sending mysterious goop soaring into the drapery. It is at this point that she glances into the backyard and notices her lack of vegetative matter. You do not even have the opportunity to recognize or accept the severity of your situation when the first wallop comes your way. It's been a while since you've felt the full wrath of your mother's exaggerated gesturing, but she makes up for lost time as she gestures her way all up your ass. It hurts man! You are so goddamn grounded buddy. Don't even think about trying to serve her your grody roach-pockets.... just take your lumps and lay low for a while. Don't quit your job at the coffee shop though.