The Manfella™ and I are renovating the house for sale. I've spent weeks with a torn-up disorganized labyrinthine kitchen (I'm pretty sure I had to ask the Minotaur to pass me the brown sugar this morning), and there really isn't any room anywhere to bake. Nor would I want to, unless sawdust muffins are your thing.
Don't get me wrong, I'm
totes concerned with your bowel movements and regularity (
Gassy? Gassy? Is it gas? It's gas, isn't it?), but not to the point where I'd feed you baked goods covered in splinters.
The bad news? I can't bake. Anything. For a while. This makes me a sad Keanu.
The
badder news? I have my first wedding cake coming up near the end of February. HOLY. FLAMING. SHITBALLS.
Um yeah. See that look in her eye? That right there ^ is stark-raving renovation-induced MADNESS wrapped in a frilly yellow apron (hey man, just because you're bat-shit crazy doesn't mean you can't look PRETTY). Chuck Norris wouldn't dare piss this woman off, because she looks like she's about to eat a mountain lion for breakfast. Me? I only have a slight eye twitch right now. Talk to me about my breakfast choices in FEBRUARY.
So, for the time being, not so much with the blog updates. Things might get a little ghost-towny 'round these parts. When I get my house back you can bet your sweet patoot I'll be baking
LIKE A BOSS.
