What Mardi Gras Did To My Psyche

I am not a baker.
I do not measure.

I admit,
I freely admit,
I cannot control everything.
I can only bring what I have to the pot, stir, and hope.

Once I baked a king cake.
Intoxicated with the success of baking, I drunk-dialed ten people.
It was pastry perfection.
I took pictures.
The process took more than five hours, covered my kitchen in flour and powdered sugar, and involved the agony of discovering that Kroger does not carry purple decorating sugar crystals year round.
Twenty-four hours later, the leftovers were stale.
My kitchen is still in recovery.

I am not a baker.
I do not measure.
I only bring what I have to the pot, stir, and hope.