Sometimes (not often, but sometimes), you go to open your microwave; in which, you intend to put an amalgam of refried beans, tortilla chips, and unmelted cheese which will shortly become (in a manner of 60 seconds or so) nachos. When you open said microwave, sometimes (not often, but sometimes) you find not the usual expected sight of an empty microwave platform, but instead a bit more than half a dozen carrot-cake cupcakes, like so many magic mushrooms that have sprouted in the interim between the present moment and the last nacho-creation.

It is in those times that you remember, while admiring the cupcakes in all their frosted goodness, why your girlfriend is the best.

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