Which sort of sounds like I'm talking about Austrian Rastas, but no, I'm not. Yesterday I and Domina Mater Memoriae did a little shopping for someone's upcoming birthday (the someone whose birthday is known, that is, not the other someone), but when we drove past a cheerful red-and-white Austrian bakery, I knew there were pastries in them there hills and Wouldn't Shut The Fuck Up about the pastries until DMM took me over. And my god. Austrians can bake.
On the other hand, they cannot arrange their bathrooms very well. They place them next to very hot ovens--"Be careful going back there! The oven is very hot!"--and leave four squares of TP on the roll, forcing you to announce to the chipper young man at the front of the shop that you have just used the last of their toilet paper, which obliges him to determine, in all politeness, whether you had enough for your own purposes first, and all this TP-talk right out in the bakery in front of all the other patrons. I should have beckoned him discreetly back by the hot oven, I guess, but damn, that oven was hot.
Anyway, we have plans to return to the Austrian bakery this weekend, when husband, DMM, and I go shopping for some gifts for the one whose birthday is as yet unknown. We want some jolly curtains and a jolly rug and perhaps a jolly lamp for his room, now that he has a room, even if its current decor is mainly Carboard Boxes of Stuff and a Crib in Pieces. Jolly sounds pirate-themed, I know, but I think we're going more for dinosaurs. Because dinosaurs rawk.
And now? I just remembered that I still have a marzipan-stuffed truffle in my bag, purchased at said Austrian bakery. Which I keep wanting to call an Australian bakery, which would not be as good and would probably involve mutton or maybe kippers, and I'm not sure what kippers are, but I bet they don't belong in truffles. I have to go eat my kipper-free truffle now. And maybe unpack some cardboard boxes.
This update has been brought to you courtesy of Too Much Caffeine.
PS: Despite appearances, I swear I am not stoned in the pictures below.
On the other hand, they cannot arrange their bathrooms very well. They place them next to very hot ovens--"Be careful going back there! The oven is very hot!"--and leave four squares of TP on the roll, forcing you to announce to the chipper young man at the front of the shop that you have just used the last of their toilet paper, which obliges him to determine, in all politeness, whether you had enough for your own purposes first, and all this TP-talk right out in the bakery in front of all the other patrons. I should have beckoned him discreetly back by the hot oven, I guess, but damn, that oven was hot.
Anyway, we have plans to return to the Austrian bakery this weekend, when husband, DMM, and I go shopping for some gifts for the one whose birthday is as yet unknown. We want some jolly curtains and a jolly rug and perhaps a jolly lamp for his room, now that he has a room, even if its current decor is mainly Carboard Boxes of Stuff and a Crib in Pieces. Jolly sounds pirate-themed, I know, but I think we're going more for dinosaurs. Because dinosaurs rawk.
And now? I just remembered that I still have a marzipan-stuffed truffle in my bag, purchased at said Austrian bakery. Which I keep wanting to call an Australian bakery, which would not be as good and would probably involve mutton or maybe kippers, and I'm not sure what kippers are, but I bet they don't belong in truffles. I have to go eat my kipper-free truffle now. And maybe unpack some cardboard boxes.
This update has been brought to you courtesy of Too Much Caffeine.
PS: Despite appearances, I swear I am not stoned in the pictures below.
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