Bonfire Night means toffee apples, and mine came out glossier than my patience — the scarf is doing all the work my outfit refuses to. Come stand by my fire?
Bonfire Night means toffee apples, and mine came out glossier than my patience — the scarf is doing all the work my outfit refuses to. Come stand by my fire?
Every treasure needs a guardian and I volunteered — King Tut's got nothing on my hoard of chocolate coins and gold satin. The wrappings are barely holding, though. Come dig me out?
Housewife of the year over here — a sandwich this tall takes both hands and absolutely nothing getting in the way. Want the second half?
Deviled Egg Day and my kitchen's a crime scene of yolk and paprika — the flannel gave up on staying closed somewhere around batch two. Come taste-test the filling for me?
Halloween's over but I'm not done dressing up — the marigolds are out, the candles are lit, and my sugar skull came out almost too pretty to smudge. Almost. Tell me you'd still kiss me with the paint on?
Carving duty started hours ago and my costume still doesn't exist — the pumpkins are way ahead of me. There's pulp on my face and I refuse to check where else it ended up. Come finish the set with me?
Devil's Night and my costume is down to the essentials — horns, a ribbon, and a whole lot of nothing else. The party doesn't start for another hour. Want a private preview?
National Hermit Day means I'm not leaving this bed and this sheet is the only company I'm allowing. Being alone is the whole point — but I could make one exception.
National Chocolate Day and I skipped the store-bought stuff — melted a whole bar down and decided the best canvas was already right here. It's still warm and I haven't even finished painting. Want to help me clean up?
Plush Animal Lover's Day snuck up on me and now there are twelve stuffed animals between me and my own pillow — so the floor won. They're a very jealous crowd. Think you'd earn a spot in the pile?