Sixteen

the one birth year of significance I have no recollection. image Last night I had to bake cakes and make fondant for the orders I have this weekend. Everything went pretty smoothly and when I ran short on eggs from our hens, I was able to hit up a neighbor who sold me a dozen. I’m not even kidding, the eggs from our chickens make my baked goods bake up so perfectly it’s amazing to see. I’m really glad we have them. I mentioned last week that my hands are pretty messed up from all the whatever over the years. Even as I type this from my phone my fingers are numb which usually always happens after making fondant. Next to my hatred for making cake pops is probably making red fondant. If the store bought stuff didn’t taste so bad I would break down and buy it but I care too much about my presentation AND taste and simply can not improvise. So being manic and angry, while kneeling in the red gel over and over and never getting anywhere, and with the sweat beeding on my forehead and down my back, when I saw this red blob I knew I was a hot mess, I had to yell for the hubby to take a ridiculous photo so I wukd have something to blog about on this sixteenth day of Lent. And that’s all I have to say about that.

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