Y'all (tryin' it out for size) remember when I posted about how Big Mama and I have the same identical ceramic rooster? Yeah, I know; that was a big day for me, too, not just you.
Normally, I'd link to the person about whom I'm speaking, but to link to Big Mama is like writing about President Bush and linking to the White House. Kind of overkill.
Oh well: Big Mama.
My rooster sits in a spot where my kitchen counter top ends and refrigerator begins. At that precise spot, there is a giant "oops" in my wallpapering skills, so Romeo sits there blocking the decorative disaster. He's not just beautiful; he's functional.
So sometimes [every time], when I use my mixer, Romeo gets splattered with cookie dough, brownie mix, cake mix or cheesecake filling, because my best main courses usually involve mixing sugar, eggs, butter and flour. The exception to that is a dish I rely on consisting of flakes and milk.
So, into the sink he goes, just like I put my little dog in the mud sink to bathe her. Romeo has a lot of crooks and crevices, especially around the base and derriere, so I have to really get in there, including under the tail, and scrub that rooster. And that is a sentence I never thought I'd type.
The irony is, today I am baking for a friend's daughter's 16th birthday party and for a church thing. I'm doing A LOT of baking today. I can't bear moving him out of the way because the glaring mistake makes me so mad at myself the whole time I'm standing there. So maybe I should put a slicker and boots on my rooster. And that sentence tops the other for weirdest sentence I've ever typed.