By 9:45 a.m., I’m standing in my kitchen, staring at the swollen ball of dough like it offended me. “You know why you look like that, don’t you?” I say to the ball. “It’s because you let him grab you and toss you around like a damn ragdoll. How about you show a little self-respect today, huh?” It stares back at me. “Stop looking at me like that. This is about you. Not me.” No response. “No, I’m not saying you were asking for it!”
