Next time I move homes I want a cake in the shape of my new house. There must be something symbolic about eating a replica of your home. What could it mean?
Poor birdie, doesn't he realize that the flower has a button in the middle and isn't a real flower at all? Poor blogger, doesn't she realize that the whole thing is made of sugar and the birdie isn't even real? I get lost sometimes guys, for real.
Imagine waking up on Sunday morning after a super fun night out on the town for your friend's birthday. You're exhausted, you're sore, your voice is hoarse from proclamations of merriment, your hair smells funny and you still have one sock on. Now imagine that this donut appears on your nightstand. Feeling a bit better now? I thought so.
This cake makes me think of the book "Afternoon of the Elves" by Janet Talyor Lisle which I read when I was only 11. It's reminiscent of a girl in boots that are too big who spends all her time building houses for elves out of leaves in her back yard. But now she's all grown up and getting married to an equally elvin man and they are having a simple barefoot wedding in the woods.