Joy the Baker

I’ve got a case of the lazy bones.  Serious and impervious to negotiation, lazy bones.

These lazy bones have coerced me into watching a solid five hour block of television last Friday night.  These lazy bones strong armed me into excessive Saturday and Sunday napping.  I also did that thing where you get up and make breakfast, eat it, hold you belly with the sheer joy of your accomplishment… then get back in bed… back in bed (!) for a nap.

I’ve had the best of intentions, but I learned early on this weekend (about halfway through watching my third bridal show on Friday night) that my to-do list was just going to have to sit tight and have some patience.  That’s how it goes some weekends.  Who am I to disrupt the flow?

Nuts.  I somehow roasted and fancied up hazelnuts.  This must have been done in one of the hazes between naps.  I have no real recollection, but I do have photographic evidence.  Thank heavens.  I may not fully remember making them, but I sure do remember the dream where I was shoving them into my face by the fistful.  True.

Ok…. maybe they’re not the prettiest nuts you’ve ever seen.  Delicious?  Oh.  So.  Yes.

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I need to talk to you about the holidays, about the parties, about the dress, and about the cocktails. I need to talk to you about how cake, how the right cake can make it all better.

I had the perfect holiday dress all picked out. This dress would get me through thick and thin, casual and dressy. It was a simple and sassy black dress. I could do it up with colorful tights and heels or tone it down with a cardigan and scarf. This dress could go from holiday family function to night on the town…

All was fine and good until the dress actually went out on the town. Correction- I went out on the town and… well… the dress didn’t survive.

Let’s just say, that after several glasses of wine, and various other spirits, I found myself (and my dress) rolling down a rainy concrete hill. Don’t worry. I wasn’t hurt. I was protected by a hearty belly full of booze and the three friends I rolled down the hill with. It was hilarious. Memories were made. Dresses were… torn.

I now know that holiday parties are dangerous. That lesson came at a steep price: one helluva hangover and one tragically torn dress.

With my holiday dress out of commission, I was in a serious bind this weekend. Yea… the “what am I going to wear!?” bind. I decided to not sweat it. I decided that if I waltzed into a party with a gorgeous cake, not a soul would be worried about what I was wearing…

Guess what?

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