When your two year old requests a "fandindingo cake" (right after you intrepret that she wants "flamingo"), you get busy making one for her third birthday.
This inevitably leads, as all roads do, to Pinterest.
Which leads, as one might imagine, to a LOT, (seriously you guys), a LOT of rolled fondant. And sculpting with rice krispies, and the frightened realization that there is no way...really none...to make a flamingo beak that will not send your husband into fits of juvenile hysteria.
Which at the end of the day leads to a freezer holding the chilling carcass of a fadingo and the disembodied neck and head portion lying in frosty repose on the shelf above, supported by a bag of peas. And of course, lots of opportunities to shout "Don't open that door!"
However, in a fit of crazed over enthusiasm, you have also committed to making danfingo masks too.
If the sight of fondant beaks had the Mr. in fits, the notion of donning a mask on his own face, complete with slightly ding-dongular floppy beak has him in near paralysis. Cannot. Catch. His. Breath.
And in this world of one size fits none, each glamfingo beak is different. Color. Size. Position. This is really and truly a challenge for him, because every time I hold one up for inspection upon completion, it begins all over again. "That looks...*snort*..really..*HA*..good job...really, really good. *snort*"
And there you have it folks. I don't feel I need to say anymore do I?
So years from now, when my youngest asks "Why would you do that to me?" Please remind her, she asked for it and I tried to make her little dream come true.
And that my friends, is why I can never go to the zoo with my husband again either. He's scarred for life.
This inevitably leads, as all roads do, to Pinterest.
Which leads, as one might imagine, to a LOT, (seriously you guys), a LOT of rolled fondant. And sculpting with rice krispies, and the frightened realization that there is no way...really none...to make a flamingo beak that will not send your husband into fits of juvenile hysteria.
Which at the end of the day leads to a freezer holding the chilling carcass of a fadingo and the disembodied neck and head portion lying in frosty repose on the shelf above, supported by a bag of peas. And of course, lots of opportunities to shout "Don't open that door!"
However, in a fit of crazed over enthusiasm, you have also committed to making danfingo masks too.
If the sight of fondant beaks had the Mr. in fits, the notion of donning a mask on his own face, complete with slightly ding-dongular floppy beak has him in near paralysis. Cannot. Catch. His. Breath.
And in this world of one size fits none, each glamfingo beak is different. Color. Size. Position. This is really and truly a challenge for him, because every time I hold one up for inspection upon completion, it begins all over again. "That looks...*snort*..really..*HA*..good job...really, really good. *snort*"
And there you have it folks. I don't feel I need to say anymore do I?
So years from now, when my youngest asks "Why would you do that to me?" Please remind her, she asked for it and I tried to make her little dream come true.
And that my friends, is why I can never go to the zoo with my husband again either. He's scarred for life.
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