I love, I mean, I love,  like I love air, and boys, and words, and life, to make things for people and have people over the consume the things. To host, to entertain, to plate things.  In my fantasy life, I am very good at it. I make cakes like its nothin while birds flit about my house and it’s all effortless and flawless and wonderful.

In my real life, that vodka infused with mint and cucumber was basically accidentally all vodka to the point where I had to put a DANGER sign on it so that my guests might not poison themselves / make unsavory Easter decisions, and above pictured lemon coconut cake took me four different kinds of icings before I crafted something that was even remotely icing like, and I spent most of Saturday when I should’ve been working covered in egg whites, cursing, meanwhile forgetting that I left the back-up chocolate cake in my car and then it melted all over the passenger seat, like now the entire seat is fudge, and this morning I accidentally put my purse on it and got some of it in my hair and then sort of accidentally ate some of it. I hope that this is not just me, and that there is a similar backstory to BASICALLY ALL OF ETSY.