I thought I had it this time.
I woke up feeling good.
Like a winner.
It was tried, tested, and approved.
The peaches were good.
The recipe was good.
The feedback was good.
The bars were good.
This was it.
Third time’s a charm.
I was going to win this damn peach recipe contest.
Or at least place.
Or at the very least, drop my peach bars off and walk smugly out the door.
None of those things happened.
When I went to cut the bars, arrange them painstakingly perfect on a platter, and drizzle them with the tart lemon glaze, I had to slap the smug right off of my face.
The bars were mush.
I don’t know if it was the heat, the humidity, or the fact that I’m pretty sure I forgot an ingredient, but the bars were clearly not going to win any contests.
So I did what any pinteresting person would do.
I shoveled that mess into some mason jars.
And then I took I nap.
Well first I ate 70 million spoonfuls of peach pie mush.
And then I took a nap.
And then I ate a bunch more.
And then I named them peach crumble jar bars.
And then I took my sister’s advice and drank some peach shnapps.
Except I left out the peaches.
And the Schnapps.
Ok, it was vodka.
I drank vodka.
And I felt just peachy after that.
I also looked at this a million times.
Because other people’s failure makes me feel better.