I have a bone to pick with whomever recommended The Great British Baking Show as soothing, low-stakes programming. So basically, the entire internet.
It probably didn’t help that I started my binge during a particularly vicious migraine, being—for once—in no mood for the brooding glances of Colin Sodding Firth, or my beloved Audrey Hepburn’s struggle to find herself and maybe a name for the cat. Turns out when I’ve got a migraine I need gentle, low-stakes, and familiar.
Otherwise I end up on the couch—in full noodle mode from a combination of Percocet and migraine meds—talking to the bakers. Like they can hear me.
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