That’s approximately 90 minutes from now. Ish. Smithwife is out doing some last-minute shopping (fresh fruit, fresh bagles, the birthday cake, etc.) I’m baking an egg casserole (fritata?), I’ve got to clean up the yard, get the kids dressed, pick up around the house (we cleaned yesterday but with two little ones it don’t stay clean long).
There you have it: M, P and S’d.
Carry on
I can’t seem to find my invitation. Guess I’m not one of the elite 30, huh? Fine. I don’t care. I just had some homemade 'nanner bread. I don’t need no stoopit brunch.
Vodka and tomato juice and olives and Worcestershire and horseradish and pepper.
You can serve saltines for brunch if you make enough of these.
Make those slacker kids clean up the yard! Unless they’re wee keeblers, that is.
Well, that was fun. My buzz is raht par-ful. I’ve got a shitload of leftovers. Anyone hungry?
You ask this just as I’ve finished eating 4 chicken tacos? (Yummm.) Really, your timing could have been better.
GT