Dear God.
I suspect that I have eaten my weight in pineapple fluff salad today.
Seriously. I am so going explode or glurt out a big frothy stream of pale yellow horror at any moment. I haven’t yet decided which.
Someone needs to tell my mother-in-law that when the angel rolled back the stone and Jesus rose forth, it was not to spread the word of pineapple fluff salad with sugar-coated pretzel bits mixed in for texture and coated with very possibly pure lard.
Someone. I don’t care who. Just someone.
I used to think that my kryptonite was feet or possibly bats, but no, it is far more insidious than that. It is… Lutheran holiday food. Those pans of sweet potatoes with the marshmallows on top, all brown and bubbly? I’m out, man. Go on without me. Save yourself.
It’s the salty sweet thing, I think. It’s making me all the wacky.
That having been said, what if an “asshole” was a unit of measurement? Like “How much vanilla goes into this frosting, Marge?” “Oh, about two assholes.”
There it is then.
In other, non-asshole related topics, I got an Easter basket full of coolness from Amanda( whom I do not think has a diary but if you do, Amanda, let me know so that I can correctly attribute the link-loving) full of all sorts of girly, non-caloric goodies like lip balm (in lovely hand-beaded bags), candles (one of my favorite smells, cucumber melon), silvery hematite pearl earrings (which I absolutely adore!), bath salts, and lovely handmade soaps, all in a loverly basket. I suspect that she’s actually Martha Stewart, because everything is just so completely beautiful.
Wheee! Thanks for making me smile!
