That feeling when someone tells you that something you’ve written is “voicey,” and that’s kind of neat, but also? You just don’t see it, because it sounds completely plainly said to you.
My 15-year-old made cranberry-orange cookies today, and I’m usually very much a proponent of dessert = chocolate, but wow, these things are good.
9-year-old, helping 15-year-old make cookies: “So I just keep kneading this until the white powdered stuff goes away?”
Me: “You mean the flour?”
9: “Well, it’s not powdered sugar.”
15: “Drugs. They’re drug cookies.”