My nanny ain't never baked no cake like this!
So Saturday was the mega-shoot for I Love the 80s 3D and it was kickradawesome ... I'll post a photo me sitting in an '83 Delorean (!!!) soon.
But Sunday was my grandmother's 80th birthday party, and the boyf and I drove up to Poughkeepsie to join the celebramation. My fambly is all about the speeches and the toasts and this event was no exception. After all the songs and the poems and the praise and the platitudes, my mother and her siblings read an official proclamation -- disclaimer: my mom used to write proclamations for the Bergen County government, all the Whereas jabby and such -- about how Sunday was officially my grandmother's official day.
And it was all lovely until my mom got to the paragraph wherein she listed all my grandmother's talents. And my mom read, "She's a trusted listener, a brilliant mentor, a world-class shopper, a fantastic cook, a master baker ..." Whereas, my brother and I lost our shit.
MASTER BAKER? She didn't say "talented baker" or "skilled baker" or even "awesome baker," but she had to say "Master Baker?"
I was trying so hard to contain the hilarity that I started crying mascara streaks down my face. We had just about gotten ourselves under control when they brought out dessert: a split biscuit spilling over with peaches and cream. So we lost it again. "Can I eat your cream?" and "Mmmm, such creamy peaches," and "Let me lick the cream out of your biscuit" and "My peaches are dripping with cream" abounded.
We chastized my mother for her inappropriate word choie, and she pointed out that nobody else at the party found the expression "master baker" to be hi-fucking-larious.
We're nothing if not growed up!