Dear best lemon bars ever:
Please stop following me to the pool after I bake you. I leave you in the fridge, but you find your way to the snack table, likely hitching a ride with my margarita (Rita, my thighs have beef with you too). You can’t fool me with your fruity name – I know you have a sugary secret. Please never leave me go away.
Love, me
Not a triangle. Still just as delicious.
a Perfect Insane 