Sorry?? I don't do kitchen fantasies!!
Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! I'm free from the fate, Of being a domestic goddess, an apron-clad mate, No kitchen slave, I! No, I shan't be tamed, By the siren song of saucepans, the seduction of flames. For I’m a gourmet of dreams, a Michelin-starred brain, And your apron fantasies are a bit too plain. So darling, take your pots, your pans, your plight, And cook up a fairy tale elsewhere tonight No, my dear, I’m not your rotis and rice queen, I serve sarcasm for dinner, and ambition between. If you dream of casseroles with love baked inside, Find a microwave sweetheart; I’ve got goals worldwide. Would you like a side of “Please, wash your plate”? Or a sprinkle of “Why is dinner always late?” Because if apron strings are what tie us in knots, Let me snip them, dear, before the tension rots. My fantasies? They involve breaking glass ceilings, Not crackin...