In Which I Am Sick, and Not in the Virus Sort of Way

[loradona]

The above is a photo of the cake babies I made for my sister, Jeanette's, baby shower. I decided to make them because:

1. I wanted to.
2. My sister-in-law Jill gave me the Cake Pops Cookbook for Christmas, and they're kind of addicting.
3. They're babies! For a baby shower!

So Jeanette and I set out to make them. It took us all night. Okay, not all night, but until after midnight. By the end of the night, we had a fairly good system going, but this write-up is not about that. It's not about babies, cake or otherwise.

No, this is about how we got a little punchy and how everything sounded like dead baby jokes.

No! Don't stop reading! It wasn't on purpose. Mostly it was accidental.

Here's an example of our conversation:

Me: ... so it looks like our original plan for the babies won't work. We need plan B for the babies.
Jeanette:
Me: I didn't mean Plan B!

Or here's another one:

Me: Hey, could you hand me another plastic bag?
Jeanette: Yeah, here's a plastic bag to put over the baby's head.
Us: (Eyes meet in meaningful way) Oooooooh.

We also made some really ugly ones (ones that we ate and did not go to the baby shower because I want people to believe I am perfect, so I ate the mistakes to cover it up). One of them Jeanette lovingly named "Fat Face." It had a fat, wonky face. I have no photographic evidence because, well, we at it.

Another one Jeanette dubbed "Ugly Actress." It was so named because of this scintillating conversation:

Me: Ugh! That one's really ugly!
Jeanette: I don't know, I think it looks familiar--like an actress who's famous for being fat and ugly . . . in a good way!"

The moral of the story here is. . . I don't know. I guess the moral is sometimes when sisters get together and stay up late, they say really messed up things. The end.