Happy birthday to me.
I made a bunch of cupcakes last night to take to D&D tonight. It’s very second grade of me. I don’t know if my body’s trying to tell me, “Hey! Don’t think just because you’re turning 25 you’re suddenly going to acquire grace! You’re still as clumsy as ever!” or if it was trying to get out all the klutz before 10:12am, when I actually will have been living for 25 years (I believe I was born at 1:12pm EST, and if I’m wrong, my mom will correct me). Because wow. I had many near fatal things happen to my cupcakes. First, when I was making frosting in my lovely stand mixer, the screw that holds the attachment-hole-cover-thing got loose and the cover-thing fell into the frosting. Whoops. Then, after I had wrapped the cupcakes in plastic, I dropped them (at which point, I yelled in frustration- at midnight). Only a few suffered cosmetic injury. Then, this morning, coming into work with the cupcakes, I hit the tray with the door I was opening and jammed the tray into my ribs. Ow.
All that aside, these cupcakes smell intoxicating. And I used over a pound of butter yesterday between the cupcakes and the frosting (eighteen ounces, to be exact). That’s good times, right there.