Sugar, sugar

After a day at the shop, I grabbed the cake from Emma's Bakery and set the compass home to this birthday girl. Her lovely summer cold has left her with a chapped upper lip (which I didn't notice until just now, loading the photos into Picasa), but that didn't stop her from eating enough cake to choke a horse. Melissa at the bakery added amaretto to the frosting... it was a spectacularly good cake, for a spectacular nine year old.

Here is a photo of what goes on when I'm actually home. I'd like to be kind and say it's because I'm the only one who has read the manuals, but I suspect it's sheer laziness on everyone else's part. The younger boys love seeing the wash get slopped about... it's rather like a modern-day version of beating our clothes on rocks down by the river.

It's nice being forced into the modern age. No emotional trauma whatsoever. (Oops. I just had a sarcasm.) My old machines were like an 'Amish' version of appliances, now I have the "Jetson's" version, but without a super-cool robot maid to swoop all the laundry into neat little piles. Yeah, I'm working on it.

Today's post was supposed to be about the mystery thong that appeared on the floor of 'Victoria's' salon this morning (I know!), but after eating a bunch of frosting, composing that entirely too bizarre event into words will have to wait for tomorrow's post. You will not believe your eyes. I'll be back here once the sugar wears off. Latah, knittas. C