I'm a bit of a tough cookie, but that's just because I was raised by wolves, who were bad pastry chefs. Did you know a poetic license is not recognized by the state of Massachusetts? But seriously folks, I love my family. And am so excited at the possibility of my mom visiting us! In other local news, my hubby had a margarita and decided "Slut Tub" would be the perfect DBA for a hot tub line. But the name was rejected at the town clerk's office. Because this is Cape Cod. We resubmitted it as the 15th Generation Mayflower Descendents' Red Sox Fans Slut Tub, and we're in business! See, Cape Cod's pretty hip n' swingin'. Go Sox.
And the new prototype will arrive just in time for my mom's dowry gift. Because if you can't marry off a very pretty 60-something well-read, zydeco-loving, fiddle-guitar-and-accordion-playing, Edward-Gorey-admiring, British-mystery-novel-obsessed, painter/photographer/Reiki practitioner/astrologer, BBC-oholic anglophile, art-history-nut who enjoys a hot toddy on Saint Patty's Day and a tawny nightcap with her very own pre-market 17th-century-merchant-ship-shaped Slut Tub(TM) on Cape Cod, well then WHERE oh WHERE?
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