So here in Pittsburgh, we had a bit of a snowstorm on Monday night. The roads were bad enough that on Tuesday, I got to have a Grown Up Snow Day. Which, in case you were wondering, is the best kind. The joy of making snowmen pales in comparison to the joy of vodka while the sun is still up. Sort of my homage to the housewives of old.
Also part of an homage to housewives of old -- I spent the whole day baking. And I mean baking. I made dozens and dozens of cupcakes, brownies, and enough pink-frosted sugar cookies to send eastern Europe into a diabetic coma. Yeah, that's right. Mama owned that kitchen. My cupcakes were glorious, too. Chocolate chocolate chip, white fluffy frosting, lovingly sprinkled with little chocolate bits. Carrot cake with cream-cheese frosting and whimsical pink sprinkles. Double fudge frosted brownies with little snowflake sprinkles. And I busted out the food coloring for those damn sugar cookies AND they had sprinkles, too. The dining room looked like it had been infested with Keebler elves.
I frosted my last cookie around midnight. It was a good day. The reason for this flurry of domesticity was that my mother was conducting a staff-support meeting on Wednesday and she likes to take goodies. That I make. I told her that I expected at least one marriage proposal by the end of the night. (And that if it was from a doctor, to assemble my dowry.)
So Wednesday morning, she solved the problem of how to transport so much deliciousness in one trip. She constructed something out of twine and a cooler and magic and went out to chip the ice off her car. Half an hour later, she was backing up, and...crunch. She said that she could hardly bring herself to get out and look. But as we all know, the Ford Escape versus Sprinkly Cupcakes bout did not end with an upset.
She made up a story about falling down the steps (onto tires?) and spewed every foul word she'd ever heard in her life at her steering wheel as she went in to work. Which is when her day got bad.
When she told me about her dessert demolition, even though I'd spent the entire day crafting all my little sugary babies with love and care when I might as well have been hurling eggs, flour, and vanilla extract on the front lawn, I'd never heard anything more hilarious in my life. I laughed so hard that my dog thought I was dying and she sprang onto my back. Because I was doubled over. She was somewhat less amused; she said she wanted to just crash the fuck into a tree and get it over with.
"Why? Were there cupcakes on it? Did the Muffin Man run past one? I hope you didn't go down Lollipop Lane and crush all the Gummi Bears."
Best part: someone still told her they were the best brownies he'd ever had in his life. Boo-yah.