I think I have finally found the image that hysterically personifies my blog. An incredibly failed batch of soap I hand-made with my lovely suburban home as a backdrop.
I know, I know - it looks like a near-perfect bar of soap, but what can I say, I like things to be spot-on and the giant wooden spoon in the loaf of soap is just not at all condusive to washing oneself. Though I may try, by golly! It might be the latest greatest thing in 'don't drop your soap' prison efforts! Though I assume, should you drop your soap, you're in a newer world of hurt than if your soap didn't have a butt-maiming instrument of torture glued to it.
In all honesty, I think I might keep it. To serve as a reminder of what happens to soap around here that fails to meet my expectations maybe? Or perhaps to reach that sore spot on my back I can never get by myself. Or I may just sell it to the Museum of France and let them deal with it's glory. All in all, I think it's a perfect example of a young woman, now on her own, going from Gucci to Geese in her Little Farm in the Suburbs.
At least my Gozleme turned out. Filled with goats feta and roasted capsicum. Sided with salad, a hamburger (because that's totally a side) and homemad chips fried in rice bran oil.
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