Here's my promise. More tasty posts coming. With even better pictures, because I got me a brandy new Nikon D60 for my birthday and I can't wait to break it in. I thought I was going to bake beer bread last night for St.Patricks Day today, but my geriatric ass fell asleep on the couch last night at, wait for it, 7:30 and I didn't wake up until after 9:00 when CB informed me that I was missing Dancing with the Stars - for shame. See you turn 33 and suddenly you can't stay up past 7:30.
So, another birthday come and gone. Another year closer to my inevitable Botox injections, right between the eyes, and on the forehead, just a little on the crows feet, maybe just a smidgen at the laugh lines...or maybe my whole face.
I have a gray hair. I've named her Sylvia, she lives at the front of my hairline where I part my hair every morning. I like Sylvia, she has character. I'm going to keep her. But I've noticed lately that Sylvia has a sister, Phyllis; and Phyllis is a two dollar whore because she keeps sprouting off unwanted and illegitimate children. I'm doing my best at tweezering them out, but at what point does this become a losing battle? At what point are there more gray haired illegitimates than natural brown strands. I've read that the age at which you go gray is genetically predetermined, that outside forces such as stress have no effect on the change. Well, phoey I'm still not ready to go grey, so until then watch out Phyllis, I've got my eye on you.