Tag Archives: Humor

Bunny Town Show Down

While I was surviving the past six months, fun events still happened. They just were overshadowed by the dark cloud looming. Now that the storm has passed, everything is sunny skies…or should I saybunny skies?

*

It was high noon in Bunny Town.

When trouble showed its floppy ears.

Some folks might say, he was itching for a hare-raising fight.

Others believe, the dastardly bunnies had it coming.

The lone bunny rider looked honest…honestly dangerous.

He dressed all in white…except for the mask.

Clemson Cadbury
Quite a quiet furry fury, indeed.

 

Clemson Cadbury—Clem to his friends—rode into Bunny Town one fine day.

He was wanting to put up his lucky rabbit’s feet and ease his saddle sores at the only hopping joint in town:

The Rabbit Hare Saloon

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Where the phrase “Hare of the dog” takes on a whole new meaning.

The girls at the saloon were of the heart of gold variety.

They made a rabbit want to sit up and pay attention.

To push his fuzzy-tailed luck.

Bugs Bunny Drag
“Who was that masked rabbit?” The girls at the saloon swoon as he goes by.

But Clem only had eyes for the sweet, sloe-eyed school marm who taught the A, B, C’s of being a bunny.*

His heart belonged to that fair damsel–Flory-Dory Flopsalot.

Flory-Dory Flopsalot Headgear Bunny
A fragile flower of the Topeka, Kansas Flopsalots.

Clem would have happily laid his hat—or his heart—at Flory-Dory’s feet for her taking or stomping there upon.

But Flory-Dory’s uncle was the local sheriff and he put no faith in lone rabbits who just moseyed on through his town.

So Clem spent his lonely hours, pining for his true love, and sipping dandelion sarsaparillas at the Bunny Bar Saloon.

Until the day he tangled with the Black Bunny Banditos!

Peter Rabbit School
Who knows why town founders put the Peter Rabbit School right next to the only bar in town? You’d think they’d have thunk that through a mite!

Clem didn’t know, when he entered that bar that fateful day, that a gang of hardened thugs were also looking to play.

They were bad bunnies with bad attitudes.

And they didn’t care what kind of mask a bunny hid behind.

The Black Bunny Banditos
The Coney Brothers: Bippity, Boppity, and Beauregard—were wanted county-wide by the long-ear of the law. They were trying real hard to live down the sweet names their momma gave ’em. Particularly Piebald Beau—who threatened anyone who tried to tie a ribbon around him come Easter time!

Clem was nursing a carrot-infused herbal tonic and the saloon honey-bunnies were taking his orders—hopping to get whatever he wanted.

The three black-hearted bunny banditos entered the saloon.

Their tail spurs jingled as they hopped.

Bippity tried to snag his favorite coquette–Odette.

But Odette was batting her lashes at Clem.

Boppity yelled for his bunnymondaine—but Desbegonia had no time for the ruff-necked, lop-eared cur.

No, Desbegonia was dancing to and fro, making Clem watch her as she’d go.

Then Beauregard stepped through the door and stood there watching a minute or more.

He waited. He wanted. But his flowery filly—Daffydilly—was not to be found.

Except, wherever Clem was around!

Daffydilly sang sweet serenades to woo her beau…

(But not the rabbit by that name, no!)

Beauregard spit out his cheroot and hollered at his boys to scoot!

“No interloping jackalope claims our pieces of fluff!” Said he.

And off behind the saloon went the three…

Bippity and Boppity waiting outback

Clem had no clue when he stepped outside

An ambush awaited his white-tailed hide.

But Flory-Dory knew!

From her chair near the window, she’d watch and sigh, whenever the handsome buck went by.

So, when the school marm saw her rabbit in trouble, she called for the sheriff on the double!

Sheriff “Lefty” Cottontail.**

@bun_the_rabbit_619 Websta Instagramer
Sheriff @bun_the_rabbit_619 courtesy of Websta Instagramer

Sheriff Cottontail was none to keen to confront the three rapscallions—despite their lawless ways.

He was a laid-back lawman who let other people’s bullets do the talking.

Sherrif Piebald McGee
Sheriff Cottontail demonstrates his floppy philosophy of ‘laying down the law.’

But Flory-Dory wasn’t letting her lily-livered uncle get away with that!

“I’ll take on those ne’er-do-wells myself, iffn I have to!” Said Flory-Dory.

If she’dve had a spittoon nearby, she’dve spat in it for emphasis.

With this incentive, Sheriff Cottontail, decides it’s better to fight like a rabbit, than to be shown up as all fluff and no tail.

He hops to Clem’s side in the nick of time.

Sheriff Lefty (pictured right) and Clem 

Bunny Duo
This weirdly appropriate duo brought to you by #Bunnyfest #Ameliaisnothavingit # Deskgram

The dastardly Coney Brothers had trussed Clem up in baling wire and dangled him by his stubby tail over a vat of sugar syrup.

“We’re gonna dunk you neck-deep in this here sassafras barrel.” Piebald Beau promised Clem. “When they find your sorry sack of fur, all will think that you fell in to get a drink.”

Then in flopped the Sheriff, long and fat, and squashed those Coney brothers flat!

It warn’t no time at all before the bad bunny brothers were rounded up and thrown into the hoosegow.***

But Sheriff Cottontail knew, it wouldn’t be long before those bunnies were back bearing a grudge.

The Black-Hearted Bunny Banditos

IMG_8290
Bippity, Boppity, and Beauregard Coney were hardened by a life of crime and no amount of time spent stamping state license plates could sway them from their cattle-rustling ways.

 

So the sheriff hired his niece to be his stalwart deputy!

police bunny
MissBunz Policing Bunnytown! Care of the SchertzPoliceBlotter

Flory-Dory rescued her hero from a sticky fate and cut him free.

Clem caught Flory-Dory up in his fuzzy embrace and they nuzzled noses.

It was quite the scandal.

And into the sunset, as he rode away, Clemson swore that he’d come back and marry that gal someday!

Asterisk Bedazzled Bunnynotes:

*The bunny head mistress taught the children their A.B.C’s: Always. Bring. Carrots.

**Sheriff Lefty was so named because, if you weren’t careful, he’d let himself get left behind in a gunfight.

***Hoosegow—to all you city slickers out there—is the clink, the slammer, the yard, the pen or, as it is otherwise known, jail.

_____________You read this far bonus____________________

Honestly, I’ve never had so much fun as writing this post.

Here’s a few oddities I discovered while looking for bunny-related miscellany:

Bunny Cowboy Soundtrack performed by Neptune Bunny here:

Long-Eared Drifter

I won’t even try to explain this. You just have to watch it to believe it.

Bunny Wedding Trousseaus available at Grandma’s Originals

And if you want to know where I captured the pictures that I didn’t pilfer online, check out Klackle Orchards in Greenville, MI when fall rolls around again.

 

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Lost in Fremont

I travel for a purpose. Generally, that purpose is to get to a destination. Sometimes, however, for my son’s sake, I travel for distance. For pleasure. To lose myself in the rolling roads dividing the countryside into rows of waving cornstalks and fields of bucolic cows chewing endless mouthfuls of grass. Usually there is an Aaron Copland sound track playing in my imagination.*

 

Recently, however, I had this experience backfire…and go hilariously bad. The tale ends up with a life-saving intervention from the Michigan DNR and a ‘Hail Mary’ airport pick-up. Join us for the missed-flight entertainment, if you dare, on the adventure I am calling:

F*ck the Road Less Traveled

It all begins with meeting a friend from afar.

*

Like most heroic quests, ‘Jay’ comes a long way to meet me. (Okay…technically she is visiting family, but still, meeting me is the added cherry on the trip-from-Japan Sundae.) Unlike most of my ‘internet friends’ who are likely market-research algorithms with questionable profile pics, Jay is a real live person.

Jay is so terribly cool, she met up with me at the nearby Panera for an hour of lovely conversation–despite juggling jet lag, a toddler, and the joys of accommodating myriad family obligations to meet up with someone she only knows in the digital sense from Nanowrimo.**

Jessica and Me 3
Little Jay, Big Jay, and Bunny and Me, yukking it up at Panera!

I was geeked. Her dad joined the venture–mostly because he was her chauffeur–but he was an engaging story teller who kept the conversation rolling. When our time together ran out, he invited me to come up to the family reunion scheduled for Saturday next.

“Sure.” I say. “But I’ll have to leave in time to get my mother-in-law from the airport.”

“I live in the woods, so, when you get up there, just call me and I’ll meet you so you can follow me back to the house.” He assures me.

“Oh, I have GPS. I’ve been up in that area before. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

FAMOUS.

LAST.

WORDS.

Saturday rolls around and I cram my kid in the car and we’re off winding the back roads of beyond because I haven’t yet figured out that my car’s GPS has been avoiding highways on purpose. We arrive with only a few rural/off-map detours. (Okay…we got lost three times finding the house. But for me, that’s ONLY three times.) This makes me unbelievably cocky. If you don’t know me well, know this…if anyone can get lost going someplace, it’s me. But, I’ve come to rely on my son’s innate desire to travel to get us where we want to go.

Mistake.

BIG MISTAKE!

IMG_3006
Here is my personal GPS Giant playing next to Jay’s sweet little munchkin.

 

Jay is warm, her daughter is adorable, and her father is welcoming. A yard full of strangers don’t question me or my giant son’s right to be there. The picnic is a nice, if brief, interlude at someone else’s family reunion. Before long, it’s time for us to leave to meet a plane. I tender our regrets clutching the scrawled map Jay’s father painstakingly wrote out for me to follow back to civilization. Upon leaving, I immediately take a wrong turn and don’t figure it out until it is far, far too late. Much to my son’s delight.

If you have never been to Fremont, Michigan, I highly recommend you visit. Especially if you want to become part of the witness protection program. Because, I promise you, once you move there, no one will find you again. Ever.

We are in the car, driving in the wrong direction, down a dirt path and I’m alternately swerving to avoid trees that are apparently just growing in the middle of the track we are following and I’m questioning whether the map is wrong or I am.***

It’s when we finally hit tarmac that I make my worst mistake of the day. There is an option to turn left or right. A quick glance at my dashboard GPS is of no help. So, with my son as the designated navigator we turn left. The most mistaken 50-50 shot of all.

This is where the paved road ends…

Newaygo Road Sign2
Not the actual road, but this is basically what it looked like. I didn’t know at the time I should be making a visual record in case they ever found our bodies…

When asked whether we should turn around or keep going, my son’s intrepid response?

“Straight!” He barks from the back seat.

I eyeball my GPS doubtfully, tap the screen and gauge how far it is through the unmarked green area to the road it depicts on the other side.

“Well, it doesn’t look like it’s too far…about half an inch.” I think to myself. “How far could that be?”

Those of you who have ever taken a snowmobile trail are probably laughing your heads off at this point. I, however, haven’t a clue.

And into the woods we go…

IMG_3008
About fifteen minutes in, I decide I’d better start taking note of landmarks…not that they were much help, to be honest.

Need I mention it is a one-lane track?

IMG_3012
It took me wayyyy too long to figure out my GPS was just turning in circles because it either had lost a signal or was metaphorically throwing its hands up in defeat.

 

 

And that we need to hit Highway 31 pretty darned quick if we are going to have a chance to make the forty-some odd miles back to the airport in G.R.?

IMG_3015
There were all these helpful posts. What a shame I had no internet connection so I could look up what they meant.

Pretty soon, things get a bit desperate. We’ve been in the woods for at least half an hour. We are definitely going to miss the flight we were scheduled to meet!

Who do you call when, at fifty-one years of age, you are lost and need assistance?

*Gets cell phone*

BEEP.. BEEP.. BOOP.. BEEP.. BOOP…

“MOM? HELP!”

After a frantic conversation in which I fear signal loss almost as much as I fear the drones of mosquitoes following our car like we are to-go container they are trying to figure how to open, Mom comes to the rescue…

Insert appropriate theme song here

…of my mother-in-law anyway.

“I’ll go.” Mom promises. “But you owe me! I was already in my pajamas for the night!”

We keep driving. The huddling clouds overhead limit what visibility we do have beneath the canopy of the old growth forest we are traversing.

I’m not exactly panicking…yet.

But I’m thinking about it.

Last Seen Wearing...
Last seen wearing…turquoise sweater and eau du desperation!

 

 

When along comes the cavalry…

I have to unroll my window in order to ask for directions.

The mosquitoes, at least, were deliriously happy.

IMG_3009
Cavalry not picture–I promised not to include their sacred images if they would tell me how to get out of the labyrinth I wandered into by mistake.

The nice young men from the DNR—wait…doesn’t that mean Do Not Resuscitate?—correction, the Forest Service Department of Agriculture (it says it right on the door, Kiri) give me some directions on how to get out of the woods.

“You’re gonna come up on a fork in a bit, take it to the left…then you follow the road until you see the exit to Highway 31. It’s not that much farther.”

I thank them, and slap at mosquitoes trying for a second pint of blood, before I hastily close the window to depart.

Our vehicles squeeze past each other like fat ladies wearing hoop skirts moving through a narrow hall.

And then we are back on the trail, slightly more confident that we will make it home.

But first….

There’s the fork…

IMG_3013
I so would have taken a right here had I been given a choice.

And more trees than you can shake a stick at.

And then we come to what looks like another choice…

IMG_3017
All that sunshine gave me the deluded hope our trials were at an end.  But no!

This turns out to be a random opening in the forest.

“What the actual hell?” I am cursing young men who think they gave detailed directions but obviously skipped a few steps.

If I knew how to use Google Earth, I’d check to see if our little blue Prius was captured in the center somewhere.

IMG_3020
I dub this wasteland: Donutsville. Because that is the obvious pastime of most who come here.

While it is possible to go left, that way seems certain doom based on the quantity of wild flowers and stumps in the way.

We veer right and hold on to a waning hope.

The GPS is now openly mocking me.

It dances in circles around and around but never moves toward Highway 31 and freedom.

IMG_3018
This seriously sucks.

We pass the dusty roundabout, heading right.

Pretty soon, we see a verdant meadow, puffy clouds, and dream of escaping this wildness nightmare.

But those fantasies are dashed by what looks like the burial site for other lost travelers cleverly disguised as a “Coastal Plain Marsh.”

IMG_3022
So close…
IMG_3024
You can almost taste the asphalt…
Three Rocks
But NO! It’s back to the woods for you!

Leaving the erstwhile, granite grave markers in our rearview mirror, I can’t help but feel like the forest is trying to tell us something.

Keep Out!Keep Out 2Keep Out 3

But what could it be saying?

Eyes Right!
“Eyes on the Road, Mom!”

 

Apparently, it’s telling us it is time to go home.

There, in the distance, it beckons us.

The way out!

Going the Distance

Ahhhh….civilization…or as close as it comes in rural Michigan.

Civilization 1
It may be the middle of nowhere…but at least it’s a well-marked nowhere.

As we drove home…we admired the sights we thought we’d never see again…

Civilization 2
Highway construction–a sure sign of civilization if I ever saw one!

Even traffic cones were a welcome sight!

We passed the bakery with the oddest name ever for a location smack in the middle of an alluvial plain.

Civilization - Hill Top Bakery
HILLTOP BAKERY? HILL? WHAT HILL?

 

And then, like the plains of Africa in the song by Toto, the rains came.

Bedraggled and drained, we make it home in time for dinner.

And it’s going to take a lot to drag me back to Fremont unless I’m giving a guided tour, perhaps by a team of strapping forest preserve on-call rescuers? For emergency purposes only, of course.

Until then, I grow restless, longing for some solitary company…and a song to sing me home.

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:

*I mistakenly Googled Erin Copeland and got a completely unsuitable track the first time. #NOT MY MUSIC.

**If you do not know what NANOWRIMO is, we are apparently not as close as my imaginary internet friends.

***Hint, it’s not the map.

Click Bait Title

You won’t believe your eyes!

Nine out of ten people won’t read past this sentence.

You can’t believe how this story turns out!

Who would have thought anything so strange, bright, bold, beautiful, and bouncy could happen here?

Only my real friends will read to the end, and copy and paste this, and dance naked in the rain while singing the theme to the Brady Bunch. 

“Here’s the story…of a lovely lady…”

Try not to hate me.

*

CLICK BAIT!

I guess I am as guilty as anyone else. I click the title that leaves me hanging, that asks for, nay, demands attention. A dangling question mark with a spurious answer. Unless it has a mysterious sea creature or a poisonous arachnid that I absolutely must know about before going to bed. (‘Cause that’s not gonna cause nightmares at all!)

What I’m saying is, I’m a sucker for flashy headlines that drag me onto an eye-blistering site with multiple pop-up ads, hidden read-more arrows disguised by embedded commercials. Oh, and let’s not forget the blinking GIFS causing neural disruptions. FUN!

I hate that I fall for these things because they drag me away from real life and important things…like laundry and grocery shopping.*

Sometimes I lie to myself–that following these idiotic stories is in pursuit of knowledge.

I’ve watched videos on the metamorphoses talents of cuttle fish and octopi which change outfits so often they are the aquatic equivalent of The Next Top Model, but underwater.**

Though my favorite videos are by the guy who voiced Dear Kitten Commercials. It’s awesome when he goes off the deep end:

If you’ve got a hook, I’ve probably swallowed it:

Pseudo science dumbed down to bite-sized consumer factoids?

Bring on the quasi science fiction babble about neutrinos emissions formed with pop rocks and microwaved coca-cola.

Something innocuous actually poised to kill or permanently maim mankind?

I swear, everyday someone is ruining a favorite treat with a gross video or unsubstantiated claim about the poisons in our everyday life. My mom sent me one about my favorite ‘Don’t Kill Anyone Today Beverage.”

Tea – A Killer Cup of Poison? One lump or two?

I read the whole thing, but didn’t see any links to data or studies. But then, I was reading it on a microscopic phone screen while simultaneously trying to keep track of my boy child. Still, who has time to follow up on the facts? Not when there’s all this junk to sift through!

Testability2
http://www.toondoo.com Who says it so much better than I could!

Why stop to fact check or at least think for a moment about how likely the fear really is?

There are actual sites for that you know:

Woofighters.Org for example.

 

Snopes.com for another

There are plenty of examples of how horribly effective and subversive clickbaiting is as a propoganda tool.

My first search on the topic brought up this article from 2017:

You won’t believe how these 9 shocking click bait titles work?

Life is more valuable than reading a regurgitated tale of misrepresented woe/gladness/shocking/sadness/turned-joyful-resolution.

Unless there is a tragic picture of homeless, frozen kittens who’ve had a fuzzy make-over.

Or squirrels. I will apparently watch anything having to do with squirrels.

Or the lost Atlantis.

Or “You won’t believe how they look now!”

(Google this yourself. I’d break the internet trying this on my old laptop.)

I’d like to say that, knowing the dangers and misrepresentations, I won’t fall for these time wasters any more. But I really don’t have any answers. All I know is that putting the iPhone down for a weekend won’t kill you. Will it?

Hang on…Googles topic…Okay…finds story on the Daily Beast (which is no doubt a reputable news source with a name like that):

The Dangers of Digital Detoxing

YIKES!

DISCLAIMER: if you plan to become a luddite and leave the internet behind, perhaps you should consult a doctor before taking any drastic measures…or take away a teenager’s XBox.

There should be an easy path back to a normal life. A life unplugged and free from anxiety-inducing ersatz drama. One where you don’t jump at every text DING like a Pavlovian pooch or fall for sleezy, but alluring, tabloid-esque, ALL CAP article headlines. There must be a way back to normal!

But that’s a story for another day. I’ve got the car packed to go camping and a teenager waiting for his car ride away from electronic distractions.

Hopefully we will both survive to meme another day.***

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*Okay, I really hate doing laundry and grocery shopping so it doesn’t take much to distract me from a task…oh look, a SQUIRREL!

**You know that an Underwater reality show is in the works somewhere. Hosts will be Ursula the Sea Witch from The Little Mermaid and Charlie the Tuna from the Star Kist commercials.

***I’ve been meaning to write this one for a while. And to do a much better job of it than this. Sorry.

________________

Feature Image stolen from LocalSurgeMedia.Com

 

A Royal Pain – Part II

 

Please join me for the continuing saga of last week’s story (A Royal Pain – Part I) a kind of a mashup of Dentist the Menace and the Molar Crown Affair.

Warning, some images may be disturbing to the dentally or aesthetically sensitive…

Ahhhhhhh
No teeth were harmed in the making of this product…except for the one that deserved it. You know who you are! Bad tooth. Bad, bad tooth!

I invite you to follow along on my magical, anesthesia-induced adventure.

With a Bippity

Boppity

Boo Hoo Hoo!

*

There is a hole in my life.

I just don’t understand it fully until the dentist says he has a plan to fill the emptiness I’ve been feeling.

He probes the moist recesses of my gaping maw, as he talks.*

“We could do a core build-up for about $270, maybe.” He suggests, with great reluctance. “Or we could do this…”

Tooth Holder
Lacking a proper image, please admire the toothbrush holder I snapped in the clinic bathroom.

With a motion reminiscent of floor models revealing the latest, greatest innovation, the television screen, which previously showed highlights of a kitchen remodel, now glows with the recommended option to increase my dental family by one.

The dentist gushes, “…you could have this beautiful baby installed.”

If there is a Ferrari of teeth it has to be the Onlay-Porcelain/Ceramic Crown he unveils with unsettling prestidigitation. Then he adds,

“All it will cost you is your soul.”

Or at least, that’s what I heard.

“Beg pardon? How much did you say?”

“Approximately eleven hundred dollars, plus X-rays.” Dr. Smith says…as if he isn’t joking at all. “My lovely assistant will prepare you. I’ll be right back.”

Tools of Trade
Not torture devices. Honest!

In a puff of smoke, the white-coated magician disappears behind the curtain, where he bangs pots and pans together to create the illusion of great works or something.

The lovely assistant plonks an array of deadly-looking implements before me.

Yeah, that doesn’t look scary at all. I think.

I ask the dental assistant, as she belts me in for the ride,

“Can’t we do the cheaper option?” Me, hopeful.

“I don’t know. I’ll ask the doctor…” She says, doubtful.

Then she gives me some happy-happy gas and I am feeling a heck of a lot less anxious about anything.

 

 

 

As she places the funky nose trough on, the assistance tells me, “The gas will work faster the less you talk.” She laughs as she says this, so I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mean it the way it sounds…I think.

(You’ll note, my ability to take selfies is seriously diminished, along with my cognitive reasoning, as the shots and nitrous oxide take effect.)***

The dentist returns and with little fuss or muss, he drills down until he finds un-decayed pay dirt.

Dentist: “Let’s see what the damage is underneath the repair job you did.”

Fake fill Tooth
The ‘BEFORE DRILLING’ IMAGE with DenTek emergency spackle in place

 

You know you’re in a bad place when you hear the doctor making the following sounds over the drill:

Dentist: “Hmm…” 

Me: “Ah ah.. hunh ah?” (What is it? What’s wrong?)

Dentist: “Oh. Well this goes a lot deeper than I expected…” 

Dental assistant probably wipes dentist’s damp, furrowed brow in an encouraging manner.

Drilling noises resume…accompanied with what sounds like boulders being crushed in my mouth.  Then sounds stops.

The dentist turns and comes back with a weird wand of some sort and a ring tone like an alien landing throbs as he probes my open orifice (and not in a sexy way).

NOTE: The drugs have really kicked in at this point…the next bits might be total hallucinations on my part:

DA (Dental Assistant): “Doctor…is that…TOOTH DECAY??”

Dentist: “I’m afraid so. We’d better keep going…”

DA: “But, is it safe to continue, doctor?”

Dentist: “Safe or not, I’m going in…”

WHIIIIiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRR

KA-CHUNK…cReaaaaaaaKKKK

UNHOLY SHRIEKING COMMENCES. 

A CHOIR BEGINS CHANTING A GREGORIAN DESCANT…IN LATIN!

Dentist: “Oh, dear god, what is that thing?”

DA: “Aaahhhhh. Hit. Hit it with mallet. Kill it. Kill it dead!”

Something heavy slithers away. Crashing dental implements hit the floor. The room is filled with weeping and the gnashing of teeth—not necessarily human.

Dentist: “What have we done? What nightmare have we unleashed? Oh the humanity…”

—INTERMISSION FOR A BRIEF REALITY CHECK—

What actually happened:

Dentist: “I had to take a bit more than expected. This is what’s left of your tooth.”

Half-tooth Cutaway
Yep–that’s the Grand Canyon of Craters.

Me: “So, that’s not going to be the cheap option is it?”

Dentist: “I think we’d better go with the crown. I couldn’t guarantee the work would last otherwise.”

AD: “If you want, you can follow me; you can watch me make your tooth.”

Cerac Machine
If I remember correctly, this fancy system costs the dental office over $200,000. That’s a lot of moolah for molars!

So, I got to see the birth of my new tooth. It’s a step above watching a B-grade horror film and I recorded it for posterity. If you squint, you can hear me slurring questions about the process.

WARNING, this video is a lot more interesting under the influence of dental anesthesia.

The dental assistant chats very nicely as the two tiny drills carve away at the cube of purple stuff that looks like so much plastic explosive to me.

 

 

DA: “It only takes about ten minutes to make the tooth.”

Me: *clicks photo of screen* “Cool…”

And it is. Despite the hassle of it all, watching the Star Trek-level technology carve a new tooth out of ceramic is pretty fascinating. Again, I am still kinda drugged…though the gas is starting to wear off when it comes time to actually install the new tooth.

F.Y.I—This is NOT the fun part.

DA: “It starts off purple, but then we heat it in the kiln and it strengthens the new ceramic piece and the color turns to a more natural shade to match your existing teeth.”

 

 

They test the tiny wedge of ceramic to make sure it fits the space before firing it. You can see the before image left of the after one above.

The dentist returns and, with grim determination, fits the formerly-purple, puzzle piece into my mouth.

First, he rinses the existing tooth with an acid wash. (And I thought I hated the 80’s jeans by that name.)  If I had to describe the taste—think rancid nuclear waste mixed with tinfoil.

Then he sands the new tooth to make sure my bite is good—with me chomping colored paper between takes.

Dentist: “How’s that feel?”

Me: “It’s kind of high in the back.”

Dentist: “We’ll keep grinding until it fits. Don’t worry.”

I swear this part takes the longest…or maybe it is because all the nitrous has worn off and I’m starting to feel things again. Like panic over the impending bill.

The dentist shows me the final work. And it’s pretty impressive.

Final crown
The tooth, the whole tooth, and nothing but the tooth—so help me blog.

He positions this R2D2 type cart with a rollerball joystick to spin through the pictures he took of my mouth.

Cerac AC
The mapping device that sounded like an alien ship landing shows the damaged area. (In blue above.)

While I might whinge about the expense, I can’t deny, the work looks good.

“Now the rest of my teeth look terrible.” I cry with no little dismay as a thought occurs to me. “Are they all going to fall apart like this one did?”

“We don’t know. We look for signs of stress.” Dr. Smith rolls the ball and a new image appears. “Like here, where you can see a crack going right through the tooth.”

“Ack. Are those my teeth?” I say. (Showing signs of stress.)

“No, no! I’m just showing you these as an example. All in all, your teeth are in pretty good condition.” Before I can relax, he adds, “We just can’t tell from an x-ray what might be happening underneath the fillings.”

“Good to know.” I say. Then another alarming thought occurs to me. “What if this pops out and I swallow it?”

“It won’t.” Dr. Smith assures me.

“They never come out?” I say, pushing for some reassurances.

“If it does, we’ll make you a new one.” He says, probably tired of me but hiding it politely.

“For an additional $1100?” I say with a squeak.

“For nothing.” He says, moving to leave. “I guarantee my work!”

And that’s all one can really hope for. I thank him and pay up and skedaddle out of there.

So, like a disturbingly dark fairytale or an old-fashioned monster movie, you leave the experience relieved that it’s over…but not entirely certain you’ve left the horror behind for good.

Only the teeth know for sure…and they’re not talking.

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*Any resemblance to the start of a raunchy, seventies-style porno is totally unintentional, I assure you.

**He did not say this. I exaggerate for effect. I do that a lot while under anesthesia.

***I had to wait several days before writing this just so I could piece together everything that happened. I’m pretty sure there weren’t any pixies involved in the procedure…at least none that showed up in the photos I took.

 

————————————-LEGAL DISCLAIMER——————————————

Tooth Image

This is a humor blog. I embellish. I stretch the truth. I invent. This was a very routine dental procedure done by a competent professional with courteous and friendly staff. It is no way an endorsement of getting one procedure done over another. Though, I would recommend D.D.S. Joshua Smith of Northway Family Dentistry in Grandville, MI, if you can afford the work. If you can’t, you’d better be diligent about flossing, because plaque waits for no man. Let’s also hope the doctor has a sense of humor about the above portrayal.

A Royal Pain – Part I

Last week in a post entitled Reflections of an Autism Mom, I made a case that I deserve a tiara.

The universe listened.

The universe is perverse.

…and has a twisted sense of humor.

The bastard.

*

After receiving many kind and wonderful remarks on my autism parenting skills, the very next day, I decide to take my son to the nearby Kroc Center to swim…DURING SPRING BREAK.

The gasp you just heard was all autism parents everywhere, inhaling in shock. Wait for a minute; the planetary vacuum pressure should return to normal momentarily.

For those of you who DON’T have autistic children, picture taking any child anywhere at times of peak attendance…and then hand that child a rabid mongoose and suggest he or she juggle the beast, while running barefoot across broken glass, and let’s throw in some flaming darts to dodge for a little excitement. The reaction would probably be somewhat similar*

My son managed one turn on the swirly slide into the pool before he informed me in his inimical fashion, that he was “All Done.”**

After the aggression and tears subsided, I slunk home depressed and discouraged and kicking myself for trying when I knew it was not likely a good idea.

So, I decide a night like this calls for take out pizza.

What could go wrong with pizza?

Alexei scarpers away from the table with his half of thin and crispy—like Gollum hoarding his precious. I’m just calming down from the painfully upsetting events of the day. I take a few bites of food and have to admit, pizza is a nice consolation prize…and then, something goes unexpectedly…

CrUNNncH

OH NO. 

I feel around with my tongue–excavating the new, sharp dental landscape. I’m no expert or anything, but even I recognize when a sizable portion of a tooth is missing.

DenTek
Over-the-counter repair kit–surprisingly cheap and easy to use. Sadly, not a permanent option.

I head to the store for some emergency tooth spackle, lightning and thunder are crashing down around me…mixing with April snow showers…and HAIL. I kid you not.

I stare up at the greying dusk looking for the frogs that are obviously next as a harbinger of the apocalypse. I’m reminded of the scene from Forest Gump in which Lieutenant Dan climbs the mast of a small shrimping boat and curses God during a hurricane:

Unfortunately for me, the world doesn’t end…because I am just not that lucky. The next day dawns bright and crisp and I find a nearby DDS with an opening.

“You’re probably gonna need a crown.” Dr. Smith is peering into my mouth and poking around with sharp implements—because that’s what sadists…I mean dentists…do to fill the time. “We won’t know for sure until we remove your emergency filling and see what kind of damage there is. How’s next week look for you?”

Me, glumly, “Expensive. Next week looks expensive.”

All I wanted was a tiara. To feel like royalty.***

The universe answered my request, but it did so in the way Grimm’s fairytales warn us about. Be careful what you wish for…it may just come true.

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*Not good. This just goes to show, despite many years of experience, we autism parents can have fatally blind optimism about outcomes.

**He bit me.

***I felt royally screwed, if that counts. On the upside, while Googling terminology, I discovered a secondary definition of Dental Dams. A whole new understanding of crass humor is now mine.

Becoming Super: Reflections of an Autism Mom

I grew up expecting to be somebody special…someday. This is both wonderful and terrible, hopeful and sad. Mostly, it just gets in the way of being somebody now. Looking for the arrival of an idealized self, you can’t see the greatness in everyday heroics because there is no spangled outfit or magic amulet to show you how great you are. I blame my childhood.

Wonder Woman in Picasso Girl Before a Mirror
Thanks to Nick-Perks of Deviant Art for permission for this absolutely perfect expression of my inner self.

*

As an overly imaginative little girl, I envisioned all sorts of futures. I was the conduit for every character I read or saw on television. I would adopt a persona and play dramatic roles for an audience of one. I was Laura Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie long before Elizabeth Gilbert stole the role I was destined to play. (I wanted the blue hair ribbons, darn it.) Life is rarely kind to such dreamers.*

I had a giant, wall-sized mirror in my childhood bedroom—it covered a massive hole in the brickwork. After dark, mice would crawl up behind the giant glass pane and scratch at the edges trying to get into my room.** I was both terrified and mesmerized by that mirror; it held all my hopes and fears.

Super Girl Mirror Image
Thanks to J. Hilla for this depiction of my inner child.

Unlike the magic mirror in Snow White—my looking glass never made dire predictions. It was more like the Mirror of Erised from Harry Potter lore. It was a stage for my heart’s desire: a place where I could be the hero of my own epic adventures. What you don’t realize as a child? Most superheroes have a tragic back story that propels them to become super in the first place.***

I marched back and forth in front of that mirror transforming into whatever television character I was enchanted with at the time. One of my earliest superhero flashbacks is wanting to be Wonder Woman. Maybe it was because, as Diana Prince, she had dark hair and glasses, like me. I made tinfoil bracelets to ward off bullets—making “pi-too pi-too” noises as I deflected imaginary attacks. I would spin in circles until I fell over dizzy and giggling.

Wonder woman Crop - Fan Fest
Liberated from http://www.soapchat.net – so yeah, totally legal use…

Linda Carter marched onto the tv screen as Wonder Woman from 1975-1979—finally representing everything the 1970’s said a woman could be. Wonder Woman was strong and sexy—a woman who had all the power and could whip men until they cowered at her shiny red boots. An excellent role model for a prepubescent girl. Um…uh…yeah. Anyway...

WONDER WOMAN
Liberated from http://www.soapchat.net. I’m hoping they don’t: a. notice, b. mind, c. have legal rights and the energy to sue…

At the time, I didn’t question wearing a skimpy outfit and go-go boots as the appropriate wardrobe for a crime fighter. In my defense, I was eight at the time. I desperately wanted to be the heroine who saves the day. Honestly, I’ve never really outgrown those early impulses.

As television programming changed, so did the sophistication of my dreams. Since I couldn’t be reborn as an Amazon, perhaps I could become super via technology? From 1976 to 1978, Lindsey Wagner followed on the celebrity that was the Six Million Dollar Man—who, in today’s currency, would barely register as any level of super being.

The Bionic Woman was my first taste of a regular person who became super-human through the advancement of cybernetics. Looking back, the sound effects and ‘action’ sequences of speeded up film look laughable, but back then, I ran everywhere emitting “da…da…da…da…da…” for high-speed sound effects or making “SprooooooIIiiiing” noises while jumping off the couch. (My brother and I owe my mother apologies for what we did to her furniture.) My hero complex would not be complete if I did not include a certain spectacular trio who entered our homes as black silhouettes surrounded by flames.

Charlie’s Angels dominated the airwaves from 1976-1981 finally exhibiting *cough, cough* attainable qualities of superhero-dom: athleticism, skill, and wit. That they looked good in a bikini and frequently wore one to fight crime is only more impressive now when I know how hard it is to find a swimsuit you can swim in none less run and tackle bad guys wearing one! (The heroine is wearing the bikini in the preceding analogy…but now that I think of it…it would be much funnier the other way around.)

I asked the internet to find “Bad Guys in Heels” but it gave this instead:

Sorry, got distracted there for a minute. What were we talking about? Right. Becoming super.

Wonder Woman, the Bionic Woman, and Charlie’s Angels were the quintessence of female power and prominent pulchritude—women I so badly wanted to grow up to be. There is just one, tiny problem with this, as it turns out.

Being a superhero in the 70’s required that a woman be multi-talented, super intelligent or powerful, and it helped that you were *ahem* well-endowed with superspeed, a lasso of truth, surgical enhancements or have an invisible billionaire backer with a voice to melt butter. No biggie. One thing all of these super women have in common though is only obvious by its absence. None of them are mothers.

Apparently, one can either be a superhero—strong, confident, and kicking ass in man-devouring footwear—or you can be a mom. I tried, but I couldn’t think of a single superhero of my generation where that was possible. This is a big problem when it comes to finding your inner super qualities.

Being any kind of mother is incredibly hard work. It is mostly filled with endless, thankless, and unrewarding tasks and—unless you are some kind of Stepford Saint-of-the-Year with built-in lack of aspirations—parenting kind of sucks. Anyone who has ever changed a diarrhea diaper will tell you how un-fun it can be! But, it is particularly hard to feel that you are living up your super-mom potential when the son or daughter you are raising has autism. Don’t get me wrong, autism is not the bad guy here. It’s the character-building plot twist that makes you want to be a super mom in the first place!

No, the evil villain in this story is the irrational effing voice in your head telling you that every action or inaction has the power to make the difference for your changeling child. I call my villain ‘The Heckler’ and its voice is particularly shrill and nasal. (Think Fran Drescher on helium wielding a chain saw.) You search for therapies, solutions, answers to meet your child in a maelstrom of unknown and unseen terrors. No matter how far you come, you can only see how far you have yet to go, or worse, how far you’ve fallen short of your ideal. It’s Sisyphean motherhood at best.

I don’t want to whine about the challenges of parenting on the spectrum. What I am talking about is being able to look at my actions through a kinder mirror. One where I see that, though my accomplishments may not be as death-defying as stopping bullets with a bracelet, they are equally amazing and wonder-worthy. But how?

One of my favorite Curly Girl designs by the artist Leigh Standley, says this so much better than I can:

Cape and a Nice Tiara
I have the honest authorization to use this artwork. I know! Squee! I just about fainted with glee when I got the okay! Go Leigh Standley!

 

Seriously, Autism parenting would be so much easier if I had super powers!

This got me to thinking.

What if?

What if…I drew my character on paper? Give her magical gadgets and abilities…and a cool catch phrase? That’s it! What I need to do is…become super! But what super powers would I give her to make me believe in her heroism? What would make the perfect Autism Mom?

Super Autism Mom Checklist

Autism Mom needs…

Emo Vaulting—the ability to leap toward compassion in a single bound. (Or maybe a lasso of empathy to throttle idiots who lack any?)

Psychic Powers to know why in the world her kid is doing ‘X’ repeatedly so she can stop going crazy and let him be. (I’m looking at you Exit 59.)

HyperSonicSensitive Precognition—the ability to detect and avoid sensory overload meltdowns!

Rx Defensive Measures—an emergency bandolier of psychiatric medication on hand at all times—for herself or her kid, as needed. These prescriptions would magically fill themselves before running out and would be totally covered by insurance.

Supercomputer Implants that would remember all the I.E.P. goals, meetings, and doctors’ appointments. Now before you can say ‘iPhone’…it is also a time machine to be able to go back and attend anything accidentally scheduled for the same day. Plus it survives a bath in the toilet and a trip down the laundry chute!

Guards Against Humanity Cloaking Device—an invisible shield of imperviousness so narrowed-eyed onlookers and snide remarks would slip right past her when she takes her child out in public.

A Cone of Silence would descend so that screaming fits would calm to a dull roar and wrap the sufferer in a soothing cocoon of sensory deprivation so outbursts would subside in half the time. This will work for the child too.

What else? Oh, I know, let’s add:

Telekinetic Magic Belt that would dispense a flare gun, a fire extinguisher, a tourniquet, you know—the usual ‘whatever’—needed on a given day in Autism Parenting. It would miraculously produce whatever special item your autism adventure demands—like Dora’s backpack, but less creepy.

Our super heroine is almost complete. Almost fully armed for the battle of her life. All she needs is one…more…thing…

The Unbreakable Mirror of Truth.

Autism Mom would carry a magic mirror so that, whenever the evil inner demons start chanting her failures, she can hold it up and it will reveal the super mom she truly is. Instead of unwashed hair and sweatpants camouflage, she will shine for all the world to see.

[Note: The Mirror of Truth will also show her as several pounds lighter because, come on, don’t we all really want that super power!?]

Head Shot
Looking super silly!

 

Anyway, she is the me I want to see when I look in the mirror.

And…

Oh, yeah. I almost forgot.

Every Autism Mom deserves a nice tiara.

Just because.

I recently re-watched the pilot episode of Wonder Woman and was struck by the advice Queen Hippolyta gives Diana before sending her out into the world. Words we autism moms should all live by:

“Go in peace, my daughter. And remember, that, in the world of ordinary mortals, you are a wonder woman!”

We truly are.

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*Dreams, by their nature, only exist if one suspends all disbelief and evidence to the contrary. This is why they rarely survive waking.

**Mirror, Mirror, on the wall. What the [bleep] doth creep and crawl?

***Again with the blessing and the curse analogies. Man, am I heavy-handed today. My bucket of overwrought symbolism overfloweth.

 

Que sera, sera cerebellum…

Spring still isn’t here. Do you know how I know this? Two words: Slug Brain.

*

I have an uninvited guest who invades my corpus callosum during cold weather.  Let’s call him Sluggo–assuming the copyright statutes on the Popeye franchise has lapsed. Apparently, Sluggo has decided to turn my brain into a collective.*

He has invited friends and they are slowly taking over the only unused space available–the squishy crevices in my cerebellum. He and his cohort hog the remote–watching the home shopping network at top volume. And for some reasons, their fearless leader keeps insisting that cheese is a fruit.  Sluggo is one pushy mollusk.

There’s popcorn everywhere and somebody drank the last of the orange juice, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me. I forget to look on the way to the bathroom and, invariably, there is a slippery trail threatening to break my neck. (The less said about this, the better.) Someone is going to get hurt.**

Anyway, if anyone wonders when the blog will finally start generating a buzz with it’s cutting-edge content and thought-provoking insights, ask yourself this: When will the gastropod extravaganza end and things can get back to normal?

Only Sluggo knows and he’s not talking.***

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnote:

*Resistance is futile…and leaves a slimy trail.

**I hurt my brain trying to understand the difference between a gastropod with a shell (snail) and one without (slug). And since that is the major difference between the two, that is saying something. I’m just not sure what…

***Send salt.

 

Things To Do On Valentine’s Day When You Are Single…

For some, February 14th might as well be called “Sorry-You-Are-Unlovable Day.

It is the annual event loners celebrate by default when Valentine’s Day rolls around like the hemorrhoid of holidays it is.  Honestly, I’m surprised there isn’t a bleak, dark corner of the Hallmark aisle already dedicated to us.

I'd Rather Die Alone
More gems like this available at https://jezebel.com

I could be petty and jealous and secretly hate everyone in a relationship on this one particular day of the year.* But it would take energy I totally lack to lift my middle finger and wave it about.

So, instead of moping about being unlucky in love, I am coming up with my sure-fire Emergency Preparedness List of getting through the Cupid-Vomit-Thong-Up-The-Butt-Overpriced-Hormone-Drenched Extravaganza that is February 14th. Feel free to add suggestions.

THE SINGLE PERSON’S ANTI-VALENTINE’S DAY VACCINATION SCHEDULE:

  1. Shower and put on the good underwear. You know the ones–breathable, big enough to cover your dignity and not low crawl up your ass when you walk. **
  2. Drink something fizzy and pink with an umbrella. Now, the only umbrellas I own are the collapsible kind that are half-broken, so one side droops down to guide the water down your collar. If this means I’m going to look like a mad woman with a Shirley Temple addiction, too bad.
  3. Buy those raspberries. I never buy fruit out of season as it is an unjustified expense. Screw that. I deserve me some fuzzy, deliciousness.***
  4. If you want flowers or candy–buy them. But I highly encourage you do it on February 15th when it all goes miraculously on sale.
  5. Massage chairs at the mall take credit cards. Ten dollars will make you forget about all your troubles–at least for a little while. Wear a mask if you are a moaner.
  6. Indulge. Read a book. Actually focus on the words and ignore that weird noise in the other room. I’m sure whatever it was can be replaced…or will heal.
  7. Heat blankets in the dryer (or stove, whatever) and then curl up with them just before you open that book. It’s totally worth the fire hazards if you lose track of the time. Trust me. I know. Some books are worth dying for.
  8. Plan an escape from dull reality with friends and keep it. It doesn’t have to be this day. Just knowing you are going out with people you like is a joy. It gives you something to look forward to outside of yourself. Speaking of self…
  9. Love the one you’re with. Take that however you want. Just don’t post any incriminating pictures on Facebook.
  10. Be kind to yourself. Take back the day. It’s not just for lovers any more.

You know that ideal world where everyone is nice and caring and thinks about what you need? (No? Me neither.) Make sure you take time be that person for yourself for this one day. Be your own valentine.

(And if anyone snickers at you when they catch you hugging yourself–punch them, hard, and tell them it was a love tap from me.)

IMG_3929
Nothing screams “You is special!” like a nice tiara.

And if you have your own recommendations for surviving this un-celebration, please leave a note below. It’s a cold, cruel world for single people on February 14th. It’s good to know we’re not alone.

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*Why limit myself to just one day? I prefer to spread my loathing out in a nice, even layer throughout the year. Like a bitter chocolate frosting that burns upon contact.

**I may have to go shopping…I’m not sure I still own any good underwear.

***Please do not take this as an invitation to insinuate a smutty association between raspberries and men’s genitalia. I’d like to eat them again one day. What? No! Of course I mean the fruit!! What did you think I meant? It’s people like you who are ruining the internet.

————————–You Read This Far Bonus_______________________

Please check out Jezebel.com and all the less safe Anti-Valentine’s cards I didn’t choose from. You’re welcome.

Or, if you want to walk on the wicked side, I found this little number on Disturbed Stranger: I Killed Cupid

Warning, this isn’t the kind of gentle humor you are used to on my playground. This is dark-side-of-the-moon, do you [expletive deleted] your mother with that mouth? kind of dark. In fact, NEVER google Dead Cupid. It was a disturbing journey all around.

I need another bath now.

On Grey Days…Beware Bedeviling Baked Goods

February is the grayest month of the year and I can prove it;  even my cooking is suffering a major depressive disorder.

***

I love to throw things into a pot and see what happens. Sometimes I end up with a miraculous, delicious invention that could hold it’s own in a modest kitchen stadium.

Sometimes…

And then, there are those unfortunate choices we live to regret.*

Dinner started out as basic boiled root vegetables. I had carrots, potatoes, onions, a red cabbage. I figured, “Ah heck, who cares if everything is vaguely pink?”

…then I remembered I had the makings of a nice green curry. So, I just kept tossing things in: peas, peppers, coriander, lemon grass, fish sauce, chicken, coconut milk…

Red Cabbage Swamp
Unintentional Red Cabbage Massacre

 

Red cabbage is so good in many things, but not as a visual aid in Green Curry Recipes. And purple curry is just WRONG!

Every time I made the mistake of looking at my meal, I felt like an institutional stew from a psych ward was staring back at me.

At least it tasted okay…as long as you closed your eyes.

Dessert was not so lucky.

It’s been a long week. My son has had more snow days, half-days and doctor’s visits than usual. I’m starting to twitch trying to keep him occupied.

So, I decided to make some cupcakes…from a box mix.

I think to myself, “You can’t go wrong with a box mix.”**

Then I remembered I wanted to try mixing in a box of pudding…so I go to the internet.

I whip everything together. Plunk some festive papers in the cupcake tray and pop those bad boys in the oven for forty-five minutes at 350 degrees, just like the cobbled-together recipe online says.

I’m watching reruns of Supernatural. The Winchesters battle God’s sister for the sake of the universe and the loving scent of vanilla wafts through the house. The oven is so warm that I can feel my toes thawing.

All is well with the world.

Supernatural Cupcakes
I searched for images of ‘Supernatural Cupcakes’ thinking I’d find Sam and Dean draped in suggestive poses covered in pastry. Alas, I did not. But the internet did not disappoint. Admire these hexed treats. I’m in awe of you, Justina Kropp/Pinterest.

Time passes. I’m distracted by a noise, pause my show, and I get up to check it out when I  realize there is still about fifteen minutes left on the oven timer…

And that’s when it hits me.

Cupcakes are not cakes. Not really. They are precocious infants that might someday grow up to be real desserts.

And they don’t take 45 minutes to bake.

Surprisingly, what I took out of the oven wasn’t entirely inedible.***

“I’ll just make a fantastic frosting and hide my crimes.” I say, with desperate bravado, the hallmark of self delusion.

Back to the internet I go…because I am a slow learner.

I wanted to make a ganache…a rich, chocolatey, mouth-gasm of a frosting.

Ganache, for those of you who don’t know, is fecking awesome when done correctly.

That last part is important.

This is what I made instead:

Crappy Cupcake 1
This really needs the sound track to the shower scene from Psycho. That’s how big a tragedy this was.

 

“How bad were these cupcakes?” You ask.

I’ll show you.

Exhibit A:

Cupcake vs Mango
I gave my teenage son a choice…cupcake or mango.

 

I myself was curious to learn whether there was any kind of sugary confection my son would turn down.

This was his answer….

Cupcake vs Mango 2
Yeah. That’s pretty damning.

 

So, I did the only thing a sad baker can do.

(Besides eat two anyway because. Denial!)

Garbage Cakes
Good Bye, nasty garbage cakes!

They clung to the tray as if saying, “We’re not that bad…give us a chance.”

But no. Sometimes, it’s better, healthier, to let go of the things we cannot change.

And that includes damaged baked goods.

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*Recipes, like horses, should never be changed mid-stream.

**I was wrong. Horribly, disastrously wrong. This was the monstrous amalgamation of inattention paired with random recipe Googling–creating a cake-tastrophy.

***But they were totally indelible.