Sprinkles Make Everything Better

Yesterday, someone said "confetti," and it made me think of confetti cake.  And then I started thinking about nothing but confetti cake.  I started rationalizing that I could turn my craving into a sweet for Mr. F.  I would make him a confetti cake.  (Here's the first clue that things aren't right:  selfish motivation for a "kindness" to someone else.)

I even found this really great recipe, but we didn't have sprinkles.  So, I'd just hop into the grocery when I was done with my imperative errands.  I'd make one of those cute pendant banners declaring Mr. F's awesomeness, and he'd love it and whisk me into his arms, and I wouldn't feel pukey, and we'd laugh and kiss...

Back to reality.  My errands took longer than expected, so my window of not feeling icky was shrinking.  I went to the grocer anyway, but by the time I got there, I was overwhelmed with nausea.  I don't vomit.  I just sit there in the car dry heaving.  And then I get all hot, and that makes it worse.  I eat some watermelon I have in my purse and drive home.  No sprinkles.

At home, I take a nap and think about what a great idea confetti cake is.  Everything takes longer these days.  And I'm a slow-mover to begin with.  By the time Mr. F. gets home, I'm braiding some thread to have a multi-colored string for my pendant banner.  Thankfully, he's engrossed in conversation with someone on the tele.

I scurry to put my pendant together and sprinkle the cake.  Wait.  I never got sprinkles???  What is wrong with my brain!?  So, I stick the chop sticks holding my banner into the plain ol' cake, and-- VOILA!

Wait.  What?

Maybe it's because of the jacked-up pendant, or the lack of confetti-ness about the cake, or the fact that my hubby likes chocolate--not vanilla, or that I get more sick with sweets--for whatever reason, the cake is still sitting on the counter just like this 17 hours later.

It sounded like a good idea.  earlier.

{images from here and there}