Apparently someone found out that I make cakes. Perhaps it was the photos. Or the recent promotion of my Facebook page. Or the fact that when people say "what you do with yourself?" my husband jumps in and says "indulges an obsession with baked goods, butter, and enough sugar that it represents the harvest of small Latin American countries."
But he's a jerk, so I ignore him :p
I've attempted to make Smurf cupcakes before (earlier this year for Neighbour day), and so already knew the areas I needed to improve on if I was to try those again. Like, I made notes and all. It's not an addiction. I can quit any time I want.
|This is a representation of the Smurf Village in grass.|
Husband says it looks like Gargamel finally set fire to it.
|Knock Knock. Who's There?|
Gargamel set fire to your village.
|Youuu... Ought-a beee... Decapitated.|
Switching back and forth from the cupcakes to the cake, I found myself wondering _____. ... That's not a mistype. I don't even know what I was wondering at this point. Was I wondering if I was a Martian princess sent here to bake until the world reached universal peace?
I threw the camera at Husband and said "make yourself useful, and make my Smurfs look amazing on film." Thirty seconds later, I could hear him near the table saying "you're a llama, you're a tiger, oh yeah, give me pouty, more pouty, NO! NO!" in a bad Austin Powers impersonation. Four children... I have four children. Not three and a husband.
|"How the heck do I fit in there? My head's bigger than the door!"|