Nothing Abnormal about cooking

In a world where people had naturally purple hair, could levitate at least 3 inches off the ground, and surgically removed their fangs to avoid piercing their own lips - I had nothing. Nothing to contribute and nothing to stand for. A “Normie”. With not much to fight for.

So why fight it at all? I decided to plumb the depths of normal. All my pants are khakis, all my shirts polos, all my shoes tennis or boat. The crowning touch is an apron that says “Kiss the Cook”. I wear it when I fire up the grill.

As I prepared the meat for the grill I realized I was out of pepper. This isn't good, but we must persist. We dropped the pepper and dug through the fridge until I found it. Aha!! Lemons.

I walked out and saw our cook, and I remember he said to do something, but I just couldn't remember what. He looks very angry. He looks like he needs a kiss.

So I lay a big, wet smacker on his mouth with a theatrical "Mwah!" The cook stares into my eyes. "Was that your first kiss?" he asks. I blush, "Yes—how'd I do?" "I could go for another," he says & presses his hot lips against mine again. I swoon in his arms & pray he never stops.