Last night I made lasagna. Stouffer’s lasagna. It turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. Of the seven suggested servings, only two reached leftover status.
How the heck is a person supposed to chop up a square into seven equal portions, anyway? I guess I’ll never be an accomplished home chef — I nearly flunked geometry in high school.
You know what I haven’t had in six years? A very fancy Stouffer’s French bread pizza. Because the bread was so thick, I always burned the roof of my mouth on the first bite. Stouffer’s French bread pizza, however, was my last meal request (with a McDonald’s chocolate shake) for a long time.
What crime did I commit to earn the death penalty, you ask? I made my victims do fractions.
Zero, repeat, zero survivors.