Epistemic status: Speculation. An unholy union of evo psych, introspection, random stuff I happen to observe & hear about, and thinking. Done on a highly charged topic. Caveat emptor!
oh boy
archive: https://archive.is/uOP4y
Epistemic status: Speculation. An unholy union of evo psych, introspection, random stuff I happen to observe & hear about, and thinking. Done on a highly charged topic. Caveat emptor!
oh boy
archive: https://archive.is/uOP4y
“Hey,” Blakeston said, “thought you could use a hand.” Rachel looked up from the flour sifter and her eyes widened. Blakeston was holding a large, complicated looking assemblage of tubes, with fans over one end. Could it be…
“You have a flour sifting accessory?” Rachel asked, her voice stunned. “Those are impossible to find!”
“I know,” Blakeston said, “it took weeks to find this one and another few weeks to fix it up. I just couldn’t see you struggling with the old flour sifter day after day. Here, I’ll set it up.” Rachel moved aside and Blakeston stepped in, straining as he pushed the assemblage into her flour sifter. His strong muscles glistened under the skin of his forearms. How have I never noticed that before? Rachel thought.
Blakeston stood up, assemblage complete, and turned the crank once - just once. The fans whirred, the tubes rattled, and just like that, the flour was sifted.
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I’m only here for the love triangle episodes with the gruff but lovable bakery owner portrayed by Nathan Fillion who’s not yet over the heartbreak of his wife’s passing (crushed by unsifted flour) but I can fix him
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As Rachel unlocked the door to Chez Mixte the next day, she felt something different. At first, she couldn’t figure out what. Everything that had appeared antiquated and unsophisticated now had a special glow. She had once looked at pastries like Blake’s orteils de gopher, which had been setting overnight, and thought them no better than animal crackers. Now, they seemed full of animal passion.
For the first time, she picked one up and bit into it. Flaky, and Blake’s cream tasted so good on her tongue. Sweet, but not too sweet. A thought popped into her head. Blake had started posting gym selfies five weeks ago. That was about when he had started looking for a flour sifting accessory. Had he been trying to… impress her?
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I do actually have a favorite flannel, but it’s more of a light jacket than a shirt — very useful for dressing in layers.
we have much to learn about your Pastryton ways
Thinking about Rachel made Blake as hard as a Rubik’s Cube. But Rubik’s Cubes are only hard if you don’t know the trick, and Blake knew the trick. He could solve a Rubik’s Cube in 5.9 seconds. It was not the only thing Blake could do in 5.9 seconds, Rachel noted approving.
Why has my life lead up to being perfectly prepared to write parody Less Wrong romance fiction instead of something… I don’t know … beneficial to humanity?
It made me laugh. Laughter is human, you’re doing good work.
Blake couldn’t stop thinking about Rachel. He wanted to make a life-sized replica of her out of Legos, then take it apart piece by piece and put it back together, making it better. Maybe making her fifteen feet tall and able to shoot lasers out of her eyes. But not hotter. Blake didn’t know how to make her any hotter.
Blake was so interested in Rachel cladistically. “If my priors are correct, there’s a 98.3% chance you want me,” Blake said suggestively. “That’s good enough for me.”
“Oh yes! I want you with all my gene pool!” she exclaimed. Blake’s priors were correct. Her bakery had finally found meaning.
Blake had never felt the way he felt about Rachel about anyone since that time he showed Kayla how to strafe in Purple Heart 2. He still remembered the feel of his big, manly hands gently touching her controller, pressing her buttons expertly. They strafed together all afternoon, gigglingly. He had a manly giggle. But that was before he learned how to really sift flour. It takes a tough man to make flour smooth as silk.
Rachel wanted to make pastries with Blake more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She didn’t know if they would make a big handsome croissant or some cute little danishes, but at this point she didn’t care. Her gastronomical clock was ticking.