first time using piping bags, first time making buttercream. both were a smashing, drooling, fork-licking success.
i will write a sonnet about this experience.
sticky fingers. By Me.
whipped and fattened though I may be the buttercream imitates life. I should have charged a service fee for even the happy knife. it wasn't painless, the process, that is, as sugar swelled into the air. sammy's birthday--the cake is all his-- but what a tragedy not to share. as the icing freezes to a sugary crust along the abandoned, aging pans, my portion rapidly turns to dust as I dutifully lick my hands. while the decadent memories waft and wade I thank the Lord who invented homemade.