Tuesday Takeout part 2. I TOLD you there would be a sequel.


So I left you, dear readers, on the edge of your seats, about this.

I used caps a lot in that post, so in keeping with that (rather annoying) theme:


Image 12-10-13 at 9.19 AM-1
I AM the bombdiggity. I was never worried at all.

I am totally not making this up.  15 smackaroos.  For my cheesecake.  For reals.

When I received the text from the hubs, (I think he was just as surprised as I was) I danced a little jig and squealed a bit.  Like this:


And then, I did the next most logical thing:  I decided to go into business, selling cheesecakes to poor shwubs who are gullible and have a lot of cash flow.  I will be RICH, I tell you!  RICH!  My cheese cakes will sell like,  well, hotcakes I guess.  I am too busy to attempt a better simile, and I am far too important to blog anymore.

So, it’s farewell.  Parting is such sweet sorrow (get it?  a PUN), but it’s time for me to leave you for the glamor and limelight that comes with… baking a lot. Kisses, my sweet readers.  Martha Stewart and I are having coffee to compare notes, and I gotta get on Craigslist looking for an industrial mixer…

*Momsie gets up off of couch for refill on coffee and surveys the kitchen sink.  It’s full of dishes.  And despair.

OK.  WELL.  One problem, friends.

I still hate baking.

And it’s just a teensy bit possible I have a slightly over inflated ego.  And “issues” with “all or nothing” behavior.  Or so my therapist says.

So there’s that.

*Sighs heavily.  Coldly ignores dishes huddled in sink.  Returns to couch.  Stares at computer screen contemplating epic inner turmoil.*

Hey! Hi there!  Ok, so I’m back!  I think perhaps I’ll stick with this blogging gig a little longer.


Carry on, crisis averted.

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