Cinnamon Buns Represent

Those who know me well know that I love to bake cinnamon buns. They were the first thing I ever learned how to cook way back in grade five, and I've gotten pretty good at whipping them together over the years. This being a particularly cold fall evening, I thought a batch of cinnamon buns could only make me warmer, fatter, and happier all around. As per the custom, I did the baking while my Better Half cleaned up my messes. Into the oven went the little bundles.... and voila!


The sticky black ooze you see on the pan is burned sugar, which is especially fun to play with while the buns are cooling down. I was in a pretty funny mood when I was rolling out the dough and totally made my Better Half blush.

BH: (Referring to the length of the rolled dough) That's really long.

Me: That's what you said last night.

BH: Umm.

Me: Why are you poking the dough?

BH: Just to see if it's moist.

Me: That's what you said last night.

SNAP!

And speaking of embarassing messes, is this not the picture of irony?


The funky yellow book is that organizational handbook I won't shut up about. You might notice that it's surrounded by clutter.

Will I never learn?