Post by Kurt Hummel on Oct 20, 2011 21:42:47 GMT -5
When Kurt got home from school that day he was stressed. He was more stressed than usual. He had just gone through auditions for the school musical, West Side Story. He was hoping to win the roll of Tony, the male lead. Kurt thought he was leading male potential, especially since his step-brother, Finn, wasn't auditioning. The problem was that his boyfriend, Blaine, was thinking about auditioning. It wasn't that he thought Blaine wouldn't make a good Tony. Blaine would make an amazing Tony. But Kurt wanted the part, and it was his senior year.
What made matters worse was Kurt heard Coach Beiste, Ms. Pillsbury, and Artie talking in Ms. Pillsbury's office after his audition. They were leaning towards Rachel as Maria, of course. That was a no brainer. And they said they all loved Kurt's audition. But they didn't think he could pull off the part of Tony. Apparently Kurt was too gay to be able to act it. But Kurt knew he'd be able to pull it off if they just gave him the chance. It wasn't fair that they completely wrote him off without even thinking of the possibilities or giving him the chance to read something from the show.
Kurt sighed and went to his room to throw his books on his bed. But he didn't stay there. No one was home. Finn was still at school, his dad was still at the tire shop, and Carol must still be at her work. So Kurt had the house to himself, to do whatever he wanted to do. He knew exactly what to do. Whenever he felt like this, stressed and not knowing what to do, he baked. Kurt went straight for the kitchen. He didn't even change out of his designer clothes (designer today was Marc Jacobs). He picked up his chef's hat and his apron from where they always stayed. He put his head through the hole at the top of the apron, then tied it around his waist. He then placed his hat neatly on top of his head. He paused slightly only to register that he was still upset about everything. Oh yes. He needed this.
Grabbing the ingredients, he allowed his mind to concentrate on remembering his mother, Mollie's, recipe for double chocolate chip cookies. He threw all the ingredients on the counter (except for the eggs) and set to work. He always loved making the dough from scratch. Kneading the dough always seemed to alleviate some of what was stressing him. He could pretend that the dough was bullies, or stupid directors that wouldn't know talent if it hit them in the face, and knead the crap out of it. He put his first batch of cookies into the oven to bake, and started making more dough. He took the back of his hand and wiped some sweat that started to form on his brow. It left a streak of flour on his forehead, that Kurt didn't notice. He was too intent on cooking. He would make another batch of cookies, then what? Would Carol want a cake? Maybe he'd bake one anyway. He could give that cake to Blaine if Carol didn't want it here. He was pretty sure that he'd have to take some of the cookies to Blaine, regardless.
Kurt vaguely registered the state of the counter. It was a wreck. He usually was very clean, but when it came to his stress baking, he was messy. Flour was all over the counter, egg shells littered the top of the counter, well away from the dough he was kneading, of course. Kurt was concentrating so hard he didn't notice anything else, not even that some of his perfectly placed hair, was falling out of place.
What made matters worse was Kurt heard Coach Beiste, Ms. Pillsbury, and Artie talking in Ms. Pillsbury's office after his audition. They were leaning towards Rachel as Maria, of course. That was a no brainer. And they said they all loved Kurt's audition. But they didn't think he could pull off the part of Tony. Apparently Kurt was too gay to be able to act it. But Kurt knew he'd be able to pull it off if they just gave him the chance. It wasn't fair that they completely wrote him off without even thinking of the possibilities or giving him the chance to read something from the show.
Kurt sighed and went to his room to throw his books on his bed. But he didn't stay there. No one was home. Finn was still at school, his dad was still at the tire shop, and Carol must still be at her work. So Kurt had the house to himself, to do whatever he wanted to do. He knew exactly what to do. Whenever he felt like this, stressed and not knowing what to do, he baked. Kurt went straight for the kitchen. He didn't even change out of his designer clothes (designer today was Marc Jacobs). He picked up his chef's hat and his apron from where they always stayed. He put his head through the hole at the top of the apron, then tied it around his waist. He then placed his hat neatly on top of his head. He paused slightly only to register that he was still upset about everything. Oh yes. He needed this.
Grabbing the ingredients, he allowed his mind to concentrate on remembering his mother, Mollie's, recipe for double chocolate chip cookies. He threw all the ingredients on the counter (except for the eggs) and set to work. He always loved making the dough from scratch. Kneading the dough always seemed to alleviate some of what was stressing him. He could pretend that the dough was bullies, or stupid directors that wouldn't know talent if it hit them in the face, and knead the crap out of it. He put his first batch of cookies into the oven to bake, and started making more dough. He took the back of his hand and wiped some sweat that started to form on his brow. It left a streak of flour on his forehead, that Kurt didn't notice. He was too intent on cooking. He would make another batch of cookies, then what? Would Carol want a cake? Maybe he'd bake one anyway. He could give that cake to Blaine if Carol didn't want it here. He was pretty sure that he'd have to take some of the cookies to Blaine, regardless.
Kurt vaguely registered the state of the counter. It was a wreck. He usually was very clean, but when it came to his stress baking, he was messy. Flour was all over the counter, egg shells littered the top of the counter, well away from the dough he was kneading, of course. Kurt was concentrating so hard he didn't notice anything else, not even that some of his perfectly placed hair, was falling out of place.
