Hey girls!We apologize for the delay of this post, but the threat of the H1N1 virus kept us locked within our respective gayborhoods. We now feel safe to venture out and enjoy life's little pleasures again.
After months of epicurious anticipation, Gayvorites has finally bulged to indulge. Yes, it's true folks, we took the plunge and purchased some of Betty Crocker's finest product, Warm Delights. For those of you not familiar, Warm Delights: instant microwaveable dessert snack bowls that come in a multitude of flavors, complete with an astronaut-chic chocolate drizzle packet, perfectly packaged for:
g. the lonely stay-at-home mom.
a. the single woman who's "ready to put herself back out there, right after that 'Friends' rerun"
y. Our tried and true lesbians.
Historically, Warm Delights have been consumed over the kitchen sink whilst contemplating whether zinnia or mulberry based birdseed will attract that elusive purple finch you've been hoping to cross off your bird-of-the-month checklist.
In spite of these barriers, Gayvorites soldiered on in our never-ending quest to debunk queer myths. We stopped by our gayvorite aisle (baking needs), and snagged not only the classic fudge brownie flavor, but the equally "sinful" chocolate chip. You'll be happy to know that the Gayvorites Team resisted the temptation of the two-in-one 150 calorie mini combos (being a newer item, the flavor selection was not quite as broad).
We're not quite sure what went wrong. We were posed over the kitchen sink. We had Obsessed illegally cued in the DVD player, while Micheal Bublé serenaded our arduous preparation tactics. We even had Crystal Light chasers ready to go. We were left with just one question: why the FUCK did it taste like Little Debbie with a bad case of emphysema? This was a brownie nightmare that not even Entermann's could remedy. After the initial disappointment, we were in for a worse fate when we were hit like a semi truck by the aftertaste of soapy residue from a not-fully-rinsed-out-coffee-cup.
Hard to believe that this is considered the high point of some women's days. Then again, when Tivo forgets to record Regis and Kelly during your kid's orthodontist appointment, what more is there to look forward to?
The Bottom line: Three minutes away from heaven? More like three minutes away from heaving.
Pairs Well With: "Must Love Dogs" and a heaping pile of despair.
Rating: Julia Child flips her shit in the afterlife, and not because of the upcoming summer blockbuster, "Julie & Julia".
