Let's set a couple ground rules for this one, okay?
I'm really not much of a drinker-- I got all the partying and fun out of the way between the ages of 17 and 21. By "partying" I mean I drank enough to have lasted an entire lifetime, and by "fun" I mean mostly not at all fun times, a lot of being hit on by creeps, forgetting a lot of details of my evenings, and a lot of throwing up. So you may already be thinking I have no business telling you how to make a delicious cocktail but I guess that's your business. So let's both just mind our own, shall we?
I want you to know I don't care if you "don't like to talk politics". I bet our Black brothers and sisters would love the opportunity and privilege to not have to care or not have to talk about politics either, but this is a matter of life or death for them. I'm pretty sure they don't "like" having to fill the streets in protest of not having basic human rights, either. I want you to know it's time to pull your head out of the sand and participate no matter how much you don't like it.
I just can't do it. I don't care if it's a pair of flats or a tee shirt or a frickin scrunchy: I cannot force myself to buy leopard print. I sort of understand that tacky is the new trendy, and I get that fashion is all about pushing boundaries but... really? Animal print? To me this is like every the film industry decides to make the four millionth Spiderman movie instead of a good Steel Magnolias remake: I just think, "but... why?"
Honestly I wish I could even begin to compete with what is the now classic recipe introductory text. I never fail to be completely dazzled when I find that the author of the recipe I found is telling me a story about their last oil change and somehow ties that in to the fact that they are now making a fruit trifle for the English Tea Garden party they're throwing their great aunt. I don't know how they do it. So I'm not going to. I'm just going to get right in to the cake because that's what you're here for. And I won't do the thing where after the incredibly lengthy anecdote about the last time I ate a carrot cake, I list all the random crap I did while making this cake with beautiful pictures without saying a damn word about the recipe and measurements that you just scroll through anyway.
TW: if you don’t like birth stories, if you haven’t yet become a mama and would rather not read a birth story, if you’re easily squeamish, and for all of the other reasons you may not want to hear this story, please scroll past. I understand Mother’s Day and Father’s Day is not a fun day for a lot of people for a multitude of reasons and I absolutely respect your need to do whatever it is to get through this day, hence my warning for you.