I love me a freshly baked batch of cookies. An apple pie right out of the oven? No doubt I’m all over that shit. Baked goods are called ‘goods’ for a reason, and that’s because they are good, so long as they are made by people like your mother, grandmother or aunt. A perfect stranger, on the other hand, well… I’ll pass. I appreciate that you took the time to whip up a delicious treat for the kiddies on Halloween. Your effort is valliant and all, but why should I risk the chance that you’re the cat lady whose main baking ingredient is cat hair, cat pee or a little of both?
Speaking of pee, how can I trust that you wash your hands on the regular? How do I know you didn’t whip your ass, pick your nose, take out an old tampon, or all of the above at some point during your baking process? Who do you think I am, Miss Cleo?! Because if I was, I would simply avoid your house all together. Do me a favor, and give your baked goods to your kin and let them develop a staph infection.