It’s a girl party tomorrow. I’m trying to pre-do what I can so we can clean up a bit and set the stage for giggly girldom. The three tier cake is in the oven and I hope I’m not burning it as I write this. I’ll get the pizza dough baked ( you can stick darn near anything on a pre-baked crust, see Boboli circa 1986. Boboli is owned by “group bimbo” which warrants a post all by itself ). Wait, checking cake … k. done. all good. Zélie, our resident taster, has confirmed that the chocolate layer cake batter made, as describe by Fannie Farmer, has met her standards. She likes to keep a little spot of chocolate on her cheek to age and taste later for further testing and analysis.
We have fourteen calves so far, and they’re running around like idiots at the moment. The herd is unmoved. I’m working on comma usage while trying to call Grandma to thank her for the lovely present she and sister sent to Minty. Each calf with their own unique ‘i’ name, we wait on fourteen more.