In my version of heaven, there will be mimosas. Lots and lots of mimosas. There will also be bacon, gooey egg casseroles, and perfectly ripe blackberries. In other words, heaven will serve brunch.
Whenever we travel to more exotic locales---Annapolis, Charlottesville, Asheville, Boulder---(okay, perhaps I've set the "exotic" bar a bit low)---I picture myself living there, and dining on egg-white omelets or sweet-cream infused French Toast. I would become one of those effortless urban mothers, who wear their babies in designer slings and smell of lavender essential oil. While I eat my delectable breakfast, drink my organic coffee, and read The New York Times (because that is what I would read in my fantasy, instead of the gossip section of The Post), Owen would scamper in fields of wildflowers while Joel nestled in my sling.
This will be as likely to happen as my cake decorating career. Behold!
As soon as I took the cake out of the pan, it did this:
Refusing to be thwarted, I did this atrocity:
Which made me very angry, like HULK! SMASH!:
After much repair work and forced intervention by my mother, we ended up with this:
My friends cooed and said it was great. I have wonderful, deceitful friends.
While it is entirely possible that I will never have my own cake-themed program on the Food Network (that is, unless Cake Wrecks.com becomes a TV show), I will do my best to be a bruncher.
Hence, I declare to you today that all of my parties, whether it be a New Year's Eve bash, a Halloween get-together, a birthday party, or a Bachelorette soiree, will be a brunch.
It's called living the dream, folks. Living the dream.