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.
