So here’s to great ideas. And here’s to the even greater mess they leave behind. At least we know exactly how much olive oil we deserve. (Spoiler: all of it.) Kat Marie is a 40-something freelance writer and recovering renovator living in Chicago. Her next great idea involves backyard chickens. Mark is building a fence.
“It’s a vibe,” I said, pouring oat milk into my coffee with the confidence of a woman who has never tried to wire a 220-volt appliance into a 120-volt kitchen.
The reel was perfect. A woman my age, wearing a linen apron (who wears an apron to cook pasta?), was pulling a golden, blistered focaccia out of a retro Italian oven. The caption read: “Sourdough is for your 30s. Focaccia is for when you know exactly how much olive oil you deserve.”
I unplugged the beast. I opened all the windows. I ordered six large pizzas from the place on the corner that still uses a cash register. I dug out my old karaoke machine from the back of the hall closet (bought during the “Disco Moms” phase of 2019).
My latest episode began last Tuesday at 11:47 PM. I was doom-scrolling in bed while my husband, Mark, did that thing where he pretends to be asleep so he doesn’t have to hear my ideas.
So here’s to great ideas. And here’s to the even greater mess they leave behind. At least we know exactly how much olive oil we deserve. (Spoiler: all of it.) Kat Marie is a 40-something freelance writer and recovering renovator living in Chicago. Her next great idea involves backyard chickens. Mark is building a fence.
“It’s a vibe,” I said, pouring oat milk into my coffee with the confidence of a woman who has never tried to wire a 220-volt appliance into a 120-volt kitchen. 40SomethingMag - Kat Marie - It-s a great fucki...
The reel was perfect. A woman my age, wearing a linen apron (who wears an apron to cook pasta?), was pulling a golden, blistered focaccia out of a retro Italian oven. The caption read: “Sourdough is for your 30s. Focaccia is for when you know exactly how much olive oil you deserve.” So here’s to great ideas
I unplugged the beast. I opened all the windows. I ordered six large pizzas from the place on the corner that still uses a cash register. I dug out my old karaoke machine from the back of the hall closet (bought during the “Disco Moms” phase of 2019). (Spoiler: all of it
My latest episode began last Tuesday at 11:47 PM. I was doom-scrolling in bed while my husband, Mark, did that thing where he pretends to be asleep so he doesn’t have to hear my ideas.
