I Am Victorious!... Mostly
"I just hate health food." Julia Child
Ya'll if that's not inspiring, I don't know what is.
How proud Julia would be of me. I have been in my kitchen all morning, baking my tail off, and I promise not a bit of it's healthy. Unless you count the semi-rotten bananas in my banana bread, but then you must also count the two eggs, 1 cup sugar, 1 stick butter- I hope the picture is clear.
Why the wild cookery? Because my dear, land-stuck friends, I am going... to the beach... tomorrow. With three of my friends, we have recklessly rented a house, bought a great deal of booze, and now I am baking copious amounts of sweets and breads, in the hope, one can only assume, we never make it out of the ocean alive, too weighted down with floury, sugary things to fight the sharks and too drink-sodden to care. Ah, the beach. Good times, good times.
So while I have been in the kitchen all morning doing this:
The dogs, in various stages have done this:
They feel we have all contributed equally.
As far as my boastful start, let me just say- the beret is And Done! ("And done" being a saying I picked up in the restaurant biz and which I freely throw around now whenever any project- from dinner to knitting to making the bed- is finished. One can never be too "And done!" I feel.) Actually the beret was finished Wednesday night. At which point, I put it on, instructed Hubster to take pictures of it, and spent the next ten minutes ducking and shrieking "Not the face! Not the face! Just the *bad word* beret!" Love of My Life got a little sulky from that point, so the rest of the photos are just the beret alone. Now my not wanting to be in the pics is less to do with vanity and more to do with a) I have no idea how to wear a beret, as my Irish ancestors weren't all that big into fairly worthless pieces of headgear and so those genes were not passed down to me and b) I have a very large head (think pumpkin and, again, I blame the Irish ancestors, or more to the point, my dad, who is the only person who can wear the same size cap as me). Normally I'm a happy hat-wearing person, as my face doesn't get swallowed up the way a normal-headed person's face might. This hat, however, is not working- it's wearing me, I swear.
As for the sock... ah, the sock, we always come back to it, don't we? We are closer to finished, though I can't yet claim victory. There is a heel, of sorts, now attached to said sock. This particular style of heel is called an "after thought heel" and never a truer word was spoken. My heel screams "After thought! After thought!"
The invisible bind-off, well, not so much. Cathy, the Toe-Up Instructor,did not show up at our knit-night and so I blame her. I've appointed her my invisible bind-off mentor and I don't care if she's awfully sick, I need her there! Any-hoo, that's the sock.
So back to being my groovy Julia-self. Do you think she listened to her favorite tunes (probably not DMB though) and danced while whisking? It's certainly a thought.