Friday, April 29, 2005

People I like to laugh at

Because I'm into food an' junk let's do this as a menu, it'll be fun for you and me!

Entree

An entree not for the weak hearted. This is a dense and tough starter, which may linger around for much longer than you'd first expect. However, this dish will satisfy anyone who needs to laugh at someone with a large dose of stupidity.


Lori and Bolo (The Amazing Race 6)
L: Bolo, where'd you put your freakin' neck, you idiot!
B: Shut up, Lori! Stop talking to me -- it's always my fault isn't it?!

I'm a MASSIVE fan of The Amazing Race and was almost upset last night that it was the last episode in the series. Except for the fact that the new season starts next week!, with other reality TV stars!

Anyway... Lori and Bolo are stupid, like real stupid! It's great, they yell at each other all the time. They're professional wrestlers and have certainly damaged themselves somehow through their chosen profession. However, they obviously love each other stacks and are sweet in a watch-out-or-i'll-twist-your-arm-til-it-breaks kinda way.


Main

A healthy appetite of Complete Idiocy must be needed to eat your way through this meal. Upon looking at it you may feel like emptying your stomach, but if you can endure the pain the inevitable humiliation will make this meal all worth while.


Warrick Capper - Dick. Head.

It may come as no surprise that Wazza was the inspiration for this post. He's a moron.

He was on Celebrity Big Brother and was kicked out because he flashed his penis at the female contestants.

He's just released his memoirs, in which he admits taking speed, twice, before a game. This has totally 'rocked the footballing community' (how 60 minutes did that sound!).

He's married to an equally dim witted woman, who creepily looks like him. And I wish I could find a picture of her in all her creepiness.

What makes him funny is that he seems oblivious to the fact that he's the stupidest man alive. He totally thinks people are interested in his 'hotness' and 'intellect'. ahahahhaa. Fool.


Dessert

Nothing is as sweet as a vapid mind. This light and airy desert makes even her drool, although I'm sure she's a big drooler anyway.


Anna Nicole Smith - there's too much wrong for a witty and susinct comment here

It was really hard deciding on which picture to add in here. There is so much visual trash on this woman, check it for yourself.

I don't really have to say much do I? She'd be a huge waste of space, if she wasn't so funny to point and laugh at.



Other items on the menu that had to be cut:
*Dubya Bush. But he's so stupid, and powerful that he's not funny anymore.
*Terri Hatcher. She's got a 5 finger Hogan (a Hogan is a made up word that a guy I know, Sam, made up. It means the space in between your pants - around the crutch area. It's measured in 'fingers', 5 being the highest.
*Nikki Webster. But I think she deserves a break.
*Bec Cartwright. I don't like her, but I don't think she's funny.




Who's on your menu?

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Whey cool!

Creepy!

I’ve had an outrageous amount of queries at work at the moment for whey. It’s prompted me to spread the word about the wonders of whey. Plus, it’s a great opportunity to drop a few puns.

Let’s go whey back to your childhood. You remember whey right? Little Miss Muffet, sitting on her tuffet, eating her curds and WHEY. Yeah, there you go. On a side note, how confusing is this nursery rhyme? Who at 3 knows what a tuffet is and why is Little Miss M eating curds and whey? It sounds gross, couldn’t she be eating something FUN and NUTRITIOUS, like maybe smiley face fruit pizza’s with a raspberry coulis base sauce? Kids would eat that! And the spider! Do you want to give kids a reason to have nightmares? A kitten would be far cuter and dreamy.

Ahem. Pardon me, I seemed to have digressed a whey bit...

So whey. It’s what you get when you make cheese. You add a bit of rennet and culture (microbes, not Beethoven) to milk. It turns into a junket-ey, tofu-ey type mass, which is then cut releasing the whey from the curds. It’s the watery bit. It doesn’t taste good. Kinda like a watery, sour, yogurty soup, with the look of coconut juice – except murkier. Mmmm, delish.

Cheese makers for years just used to drain this off, thinking it waste. With what we know whey is good for today it’s kinda like cutting up a diamond and tossing all the extra bits, ‘cept not as expensive or pretty. Actually a shitty analogy, meh. You get it -- stupid cheese makers.

Once they realised there was a nutritional value in the whey, they began to spray dry is and FEED IT TO COWS. Der!

In today’s market whey can be manipulated to emulate properties of egg, fat, cream, natural dairy flavours, whipping agents, bakery ingredients… yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s sold for a mint.

It’s full of dairy proteins, minerals and with very little to no fat. How good is that?! Now, before you start ringing me for samples, you probably won’t find a massive use for it in the home. But if you see it in something on the back of a label don’t be frightened, your local Food Scientist probably knows what she’s doing.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Weekend of Birthday

What did I do on the WOB I hear you ask. Here’s some stuff:

Ate



At Pearl. As a Birthday tradition my the Birthdayee is allowed to pick a restaurant to dine in, with family. I chose Pearl. Possibly because I love trying to impress my dad with food and wine. He’s so proud.

Had breakfast out every morning. Glenn and I would wake up and squiggle with excitement over choosing the perfect venue to lull over coffee and eggs. Perfect.

On Saturday night we got take-away duck and crispy pork (from the secret duck place). Nothing will ever be better than this. I highly recommended getting take-away that you think you should be eating in a restaurant. It’s good for the soul. I also recommend getting enough for two dinners in a row. Just to reinforce the fact that it’s possibly the best thing you’ll ever do. You’ll need wine, too.


Partied


Went to Wolfmother. Twice! Thursday only saw last bit of the set. Apparently Sarah organised for them to say Happy Birthday to me. I wasn’t there for it *kicks self*. AND THEN I won tickets to see the Monday show. They’re cool in an our-original-stuff-may-suck-but-who’d-know-because-we-kick-ass-at-led-zep kinda way.

Friday was the real deal. It was stacks of fun. I had secret signals for ordering free drinks. I had rooley excellent friends that thought I was cool, bless ‘em.

Then we all went to Cherry and did we have fights! It’s not a party without someone upsetting someone else! JUST NOT ME OR MY SWEETS! Back off! Ahem. It’s cool. I still remember that it was a great night.


Got stoned


Hey when it’s your birthday AND the long weekend AND you’re at home watching the footy by yourself what else are you going to do. And when you’re sweetheart comes home real “chatty” like and you need to calm him down – what are ya going to do. Get stoned! I even entertained the thought of putting on my Thai Fisherman’s Pants. Ahahahhaa. No, I didn’t. Had mockies though.


Birthday’s rule.



Little Glenn


littleglenn
Originally uploaded by Sugar n Spice.
No, you can't have him. He's mine. In a non-posessive, sweet way

Thursday, April 21, 2005

A slice o' Sugar and Spice



I can’t count the number of times people have met me and said. “You know S&S you’re an enigma, wrapped in a puzzle, wrapped in a cardigan,” or sumthin’, sumthin’. So you want to know the real story behind Sugar and Spice? A glimsp into the world unknown? Here goes…

I was born early morning on this day 24 years ago to two young bright eyed on-the-verge-of-parenthood parents.

My parents lived in a small country town (pop:1500) when I was born. Story has it that as I was pushing my way through the birth canal my Dad went a little ‘get the wife comfortable’ crazy. He got the car started, pushed the seat way back and turned the heating up to ‘stifling’. To this day we’re not sure why he was hell bent on making Mum give birth in a dehydrated state, nonetheless mother and unborn me made it to the Hospital where within 2 hours I popped my baked head out of my Mums oven.

Being the oldest ensures you always have a bit of ‘only child syndrome’, if only for a little while. I was in my terrible two’s when my first sister appeared, just as Mum lost a substantial amount of weight. Then another two years later my youngest sister mysteriously appeared in a similar fashion. I like both my sisters stacks now, but I’m pretty sure I was the wicked older sister for many years. Actually, they tell me I was, which means they may not have liked me then, but we’re now close enough that they can pick on me about it now. Oh, how times have changed!

We all grew up in the aforementioned small country town, where literally half the population were our relatives. It was a swell place. I remember never feeling at risk and roaming free wherever I chose. Alas small country towns are claustrophobic places where your business is everyone’s business. Thus my parents decided to move ‘into town’ (pop: 15 000) in Australia’s bicentennial year.

This was great because I got my own room AND got to choose what colour it was painted (peach, which I then had to live with for 10 years). That room and I saw a lot of ups and downs. There were posters of Bros and Kylie which were ripped down and replaced by ‘deep’ adolescent drawings that my ‘deep’ friends and I drew for each other. The peach was eventually taken over with terrible snippets of poetry and ‘Save Jabiluka’ posters. The carpet absorbed the musky odours of Nag Champa and clumps were stuck together with wax from overexcited candles. My cupboard spewed all my oversized black clothing over my floor, amongst the books and Nirvana cd covers.

One day, upon emerging from my den, I suggested to my parents that I’d like to live overseas for a year. As my parents never saw me apart from my slinking to the bathroom or pantry, they thought this a good and ‘strengthening’ exercise. So at the tender and sensitive age of 16 I boarded a plane to the land of Danes where I was to live with a family I had never met and go to a school where I couldn’t speaka the language.

I consider this as the breaking point. Ultimately considered the best thing I’ve ever done. One day I remember thinking to myself. “Nobody here knows me, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want, be friends with anyone I don’t like or believe in anything I don’t want to believe in.” I’d started afresh.

I made friends with an amazing, dedicated and talented group of individuals. I am happy to say that they are still my friends today. During this year I remembered what confidence, individuality, responsibility, family and friendship were all about. I brought all these trinkets home with me and have kept them in my pocket ever since.

I returned to Aus one year older and a lot braver. All my friends I’d had at High School had moved on a year and so I had to forge new friendships. Lucky for me, because I met many of my favourite people with whom I am still fast friends with.

We moved to Melbourne together to study and work and be ‘independent’, which really meant we’d find somewhere to live and get our parents to pay rent. Heart breakingly at the time my parents were not in a rent paying situation and I moved into a shoebox with my Dad.

My Dad had been working in Melbourne and Sydney for the past 10 years. Although potentially devastating for my parents relationship they made it through 14 years of living apart in distance with love, communication and understanding. In my eyes my mother will always be the most amazing person for keeping our family together. When I grow up, if I’m half the woman she is I’ll be content.

My Dad was always a most important figure in my life, though a diminished one out of a lack of presence. When I moved in with him we both had to give a little. Neither of us did. We moved around each other uncomfortably for 2 years. I’ve always had the greatest amount of respect for my father. He’s generous, strong, loving and driven. I am also these things; we just couldn’t see the other person’s side ever. Since now living apart for 3 years we have established a tight and deep respect for each other at home and work – having chosen the same working industry.

My whole family was reunited 3 years ago when my Mum and youngest sister moved up to the big smoke. We now all live within one suburb of each other. If I ever need anything in my life I know any member of my family will be there in a second. In the meantime they’re good for providing sarcasm and wit.

So today I’m 24 and I’m happy in love, profession, home, friendship and family life. On this day the 21st of April, 2005 I am one contented little blogger.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

It's the final countdown... dododoodo, dodoodododooo

So tomorrow is the day, no sorry, let me rephrase that… TOMORROW IS THE DAY! WHOOHOO Yeah, that’s better.

Argh! I can't take it! It's so exciting! You feel it too right?
So when you're as excitedly obsessed by your birthday as what I am what's the most tortuous thing someone can do to you? How 'bout sending you this?...

Thanks Sweetness.
*smiles coyly*
*mutters under breath*
bastard
What is it? It's pink, there's some sort of sticker on it, that I can't make out when I enlarge it. He's described it as "presents". With an 's', indicating a plural! TORTURE!

Moving on, here is a general step by step program for my day, just so you know and can think of me sporatically and know generally what I'll be doing. I'm generous that way, huh?

STEP 1: Wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed next to some hot guy I’ve picked up off the street… oh, I mean, next to my honey. Then I’ll… yeah, no, you don’t need to know me that well.

STEP 2: Get a really good coffee and be late to work. I feel I deserve it.

STEP 3: Survive work. Wait for 5pm.

STEP 4: Yay! It’s 5pm! Go home and get dressed up in time to be at Mum and Dad’s for family love, presents and no doubt a bottle of sparkling red.

STEP 5: Eat to my hearts content at Pearl. Thanks Dad.

STEP 6: Head to The Corner to watch rock hotnessed, Wolfmother.

STEP 7: Slip contentedly into bed and then… no, you’re still not privy to that information.


Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Friendship doesn't have to be based on food, but it's a start.


matts breakfast
Originally uploaded by Sugar n Spice.

On Saturday morning I ran into my friend Matt.

He looked bedraggled. He'd been up late. But he was excited, because he'd made this for breakfast. It's sausages, some with duck, some with pork and fried mash. All washed down with stout. You like him too right?

If you wish to endear yourself to me more please send me pictures of your food.

the best way to my heart is through my stomach.

xx

Part 2:

Who better to take up a challenge than ausculture jess. She's busty you know... or so she tells me.

And so I present "Yummy pork and lots of other stuff like potato and ummmm green stuff like beans and... it was really nice."

Delicious Jess. (note the lack of comma).

Join with me lovers of food and blogs. I know you have what it takes, let's make the world salivate together!

Monday, April 18, 2005

Sugar or Spice?


Yesterday was my Nan’s 80th Birthday Party. My sister and our beau’s got into the car and headed off to Bairnsdale. Non-stop Bairnsy is 3 hours. We stopped twice and still got there in 3 hours, due to us running an hour behind time and because my Honey is good at driving like a bat outa Hell (which I totally don't condone).

My Nan is of course special to me, everyone’s got a special 'Nan spot' in their heart. However, she tends to cop a lot of flack from the family because she’s a bit of a gossip and is slightly morbid – her favourite topic being deaths of those she knows and the prospective death of those she knows. This tends to become tedious when having a conversation with Nan.

But yesterday the whole clan (approx. 27 kin + 20 other hangers on) decended on the Lake of China in Bairnsy and ate Crayfish and Crab that my dad brought down from Melbourne. Good one Dad.

After the food was happily digesting and the candles had just been blown out, speeches were made and it was brought up by my beloved Nan the I had been the only Grandchild (of 14) that had not called her and wished her Happy Birthday.

Ok. A couple of points here:
1. It’s true, I didn’t call. It’s also true that my sister had given me a heads up to call and provided me with the number.

2. My aunts and uncles can be cruel and cunning, and cemented the fact that I was the only Grandchild that had not called in Nan’s head and that I was now in fact number 14 on her favourite Grandchild’s list.


3. My aunt, during Nan’s speech brought this up, to which my Nan (like Pavlov’s dog) responded with, “Yes, Sugar, you were the only one of 14 Grandchildren not to call and wish me happy birthday!”

4. It is also true that I should pay heed to others’ birthday’s as I become a little involved with my own.

But I was not about to let the issue lie. Ohno. This meant war family –- in a sweet, 'I should do something special for my Nan' way.

So I snuck out of the restaurant and went to the supermarket. I found the best Nan card that is possible to find in a country supermarket and set out to win my Nan back with words from the heart.

I wrote a few childhood anecdotes and told her she was ‘special to me throughout my youth, which still means a great deal to me today’. To many this may not sound like a big deal. But for this to be written to someone in my family, by someone in my family is a rather big deal.

Let’s just say I regained number one spot on the Grandkid’s list, much to the disgust of the rest of my family. Glenn even said there was a sign of a tear in her eye. I felt good that I’d done something that my Nan will always appreciate. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d done it after I knew that it’d done something that had upset her. I know that what I wrote was true and that she does hold that special ‘Nan spot’ in my heart, but maybe she would not have known that if I hadn’t been selfish the day before and not called her and suffered the guilt of that from Nan and the family.

Am I a bad person?

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Phytoestrogens, ay?



Fluffy asks and she doth receive:
i want to know more about about tofu and phytoestrogens.



I’m going to start with the phytoestrogens because I’ve meet some of youse and I reckon youse’ve got the tofu bit covered.

Phytoestrogens are naturally occurring phenolic plant compounds, present in foods such as beans, cabbage, soyabean, grains and hops (beer, finally, beer is good!), and are part of a wider class of polyphenols found in all plants. They are structurally similar to the mammalian oestrogen, oestradiol, and have oestrogenic properties.

Now let’s not freak out here. They’re not like human oestrogen (the girlie hormone), they’re pretty mild in comparison. As in like 1/1000 as ineffective, but still pack a punch.

Phytoestrogens are found in plants, but the most abundant source is from legumes. Soy bean having the highest levels of all the legumes (linseed is also very high). Obviously tofu is made form soy beans, therefore tofu is regarded as a good source of phytoestrogens. And so the circle is complete.

So, like, why are they, like, good an’ stuff?

WELL. They’re thought to be beneficial in 4 major areas. Cancer, menopause, osteoporosis and heart disease.

OK, cancer. It’s thought that because Japanese cultures have a very low incidence of breast and prostate cancers and a very high intake of phytoestrogens that there is a link (it’s estimated that the Japanese diet contains about 30 times the phytoestrogens as the typical Western diet). It’s kinda tied in with the whole menopause bit. As in chances of cancer development is increased after menopause. The added amount of oestogenic effect the phytoestrogen adds is postulated to contribute to a decreased risk of cancer development.

Menopausal symptoms are also thought to be reduced, or at the very least changed with a diet high in phytoestrogens. Women in Japan are more likely to have headaches and backaches rather than hot flushes and night sweats. One test showed that substituting for soya flour (45g/day) hot flushes were decreased by 40%. That’s good. Just depends if you’re more inclined to want a backache or turning beet red mid sentence.

Osteoporosis is also linked to the onset of menopause. Often treatment of menopause includes hormone therapy. So in a sense, if you’re delaying or softening the effects of menopause by consuming phytoestrogens, then it’s also going to help the osteoporosis.

And heart disease, good ol’ heart disease, we can always trust you be a symptom of poor eating. It appears that the phytoestrogens have less to do with this one, and more to do with the source you’re getting the phyto’s from, i.e. tofu. Tofu also contains isoflavins which have been shown to have a positive effect on lowering the bad cholesterol levels in the blood serum. I’ve talked about the goods and evils of cholesterol before and I’m tired and I have work to do, so you’ll just have to re-read an old post buried in The Missing Ingredient if you want further assistance on this one. (Yowza, crack the whip)

So there you go Fluff’s. Tofu = phytoestrogens + isoflavins, which = good. I hope I’ve glossed over it thoroughly enough. Now, a note to all the rest of you… it pays to have a beer with me on a sunny day to remind me to research and blog over these things.

Happy eating!

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Walk all over you

i am like SO Jessica Albaright no,w with my new boots
I’ve been illin’ a little lately. A case of burning the candle at both ends me thinks. But there are times where you just need to make a few sacrifices and quite frankly life’s so freakin’ good right now that I ain’t gunna change a thing (don’t I make you sick).

So yesterday I took a day off from the Herb and Spice world which is my working week and slept in. A sick day should not however be wasted and I had much to do. I spent the morning erranding: doctor’s surgery here; Richmond town hall there; a smattering of laundry and most importantly a shit load of Birthday shopping!

We all remember it’s Month Of Birthday right? Good. I’d be terribly upset if anyone forgot. So my Mum said she’d take me shopping because my wardrobe, although fun and exciting, has been fun and exciting with the same clothes I’ve had for maybe a thousand years (or so I tried to convince my Mum).

The only thing that I have ample stock of is black boots. Unfortunately, it never seems to register that I have enough pairs of black boots. So I got some new ones. These are like totally different to my other pairs! Serious. They’re higher (yeah, that’s right), they’re somewhat pointer – but not like “you could take someone’s eye out” pointy and like SO different to any of my other pairs.

Ok, it’s a problem I have. I like boots. I can’t wear heels because I think people are pointing and staring, but get me near a pair of boots and watch out baby - I’m ready to walk the walk.

My most treasured boots are out of action at the moment and have been for a heart breaking 4 months. I wore them to Meredith and the heel fell off while I was drunkenly taking them off on a mind addled morn. I need to take them back to Rocco, an institution in cowboy boots here in Melbourne (I hear he’s made them for Bon Jovi), but Rocco is in Malvern and I haven’t been able to get there… *sob*, it’s all getting a bit much… excuse me…

*in*

*out*

*in*

*out*

ok, it’s ok.

My other pair of black boots are ancient and I only wear them for two reasons.
1) They’re comfy
2) I saw a really cool girl wearing them in a really cool way, wile working in a really cool shop and thought, “maybe they’re not so bad after all.” Problem is I can’t wear them as cool as her.… Excuse me how pathetic do I sound here? Since when did I want to be cool like some girl in a jeans shop? Those boots are so dumped. Lucky I’ve got my new hot-as-hell ones.

My last pair of black boots are reminants from high school days gone by. 10-up, steel-cap, Doc Martins. I’m holding on to those babies until they come back in fashion. We all know it’s going to happen and when it does I’ll be hot shit.

Today I’m back in my lab coat happily dreaming of the day I get to lay my hands on those precious boots again (next Thursday… so exciting!) and waiting for the day to end because as the day draws to an end the comedy draws closer.

Monday, April 11, 2005

i'm tired and words fail me at this point, so let's review what's making sugar tick at the mo' through visual aids

































































Wednesday, April 06, 2005

A lack of concentration

In the last week I have been a little preoccupied. It’s not just affecting my attendance in the blogosphere, but in the outside world too.

Everything is taking a little more effort than usual. My concentration levels are spent. Driving is a hazard. On the way to work I’m distracted and a little daydreamy. I always pick the slow lane and am often left sitting at a green light with insane drivers tooting me from behind. Once I arrive at my destination though I don’t want to get out of my little automobile, because I know that it’ll be the whole working day before I get back in it to brave peak-hour home.

On the drive home I’m edgy and a little erratic. I just want to get home. I find myself looking for shortcuts and getting pissy with the type of driver I am in the morning. Once I arrive home I’m not calm. I rush around the house, unable to sit and read the paper and drink a soothing cup of tea.

I wouldn’t be able read anyway. I’d get through half an article and then either skip to the end or move on to something with pictures. Forget books. I picked up a cheap copy of Stark by the lovable Ben Elton a couple of weeks ago, in the last week I think I’ve got through (maybe) a paragraph or two.

I can’t sleep either. I’m absolutely exhausted, but as soon as I close my eyes my mind kicks into light speed thinking. There’s no stopping it.

I can’t eat. I want to, because I have this dry taste in my mouth all the time, but as soon as something passes my lips my tummy grumbles something about “you’ve got to be kidding, like I haven’t got enough to think about here!”

Even if I could eat I wouldn’t know what to do. I can’t cook a meal without the distinct possibility of slicing off bits of my finger with my beloved Global knives.

It all sounds pretty dim doesn’t it? Are you worried about me? Can you see a dishevelled Sugar in your minds eye?

You shouldn’t, because it’s got nothing to do with dark clouds and sad skies. It’s more about that all encompassing feeling that you need to be next to that person. You need to be touching them all the time. You need to look at them and see that look of adoration in their eyes, and feel it coming out of yours.

It’s all explosions and happiness and closeness and waiting and feeling and needing and songs and giggles. Really it’s all about love and sharing it with the person that you’ve always wanted to share it with and that can muck around with your concentration.

Phew.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Month Of Birthday!


My youngest sister, Tutse’s*, birthday is in February. Mine is in April. Usually on the night of Tutse’s birthday (around present time), I bring up the fact that my birthday is next.

This is a tradition. My announcement of the upcoming celebration is so expected that my Ultra Cool Mum actually beat me to the punch this year:

*Snickering* “So, I guess Sugar that it’s your turn next.”

*A look of “She finally understands” on Sugar’s face* “I know Mum, I’ve been thinking about that.”

*Snickers from rest of table*

For as long as I can remember my Birthday has always been the pinnacle of my year. As a child I would meticulously plan my birthday party. I’d pick out themed invitations, choose my cake, schedule the latest, hippest games, make sure there was the right food for the occasion. I was so good at this I was also in charge of both my sisters’ parties.

As time went by and the years past, I became a woman. A woman who loves to PARTY! Omg, I’m so embarrassed I wrote that. Sufficed to say, I still make sure I always have some sort of hyped up bash. I'm pretty sure this year will involve drinking beer. or smthin smthin.

Anywaaay, point is I’ve programmed myself from an early age to love, love, love my birthday. So much so that this year I’ve decided it’s the Month Of Birthday!

And it starts today!

This really means nothing more than I get to talk about it all the time and make excuses, such as:

[Insert friend]: Don’t you think it’s your turn to pay for dinner Sugar?
Sugar: I would [insert friend], but it’s my Month Of Birthday!

Mum: Sugar, how come you’ve directed all you’re bill’s for April here?
Sugar: Because it’s Month Of Birthday! and I’m taking bill paying off!

Sugar: Gee, my feet are tired after my busy day at the office.
Handsome Man: You know what? I’m going to massage them for you because…
Together: Month Of Birthday!

You see how great this is? I’m totally NOT going to get sick of this. ever.

Feel free to praise me as much as you like for the next 30 days.



*Tutse is what I call her. She has a regular name too.