Canadian Cream—DENIED


Front label…check.

Back label…check.


My mum picked up some mysterious stomach bug at the ladies’ church group she accidentally infiltrated. Celestial payback? Maybe so, but what did I do to deserve this, my fellow inebriates?

Barfing and sleeping, she basically ignored anything a bear could say. “We’ve got to start the cook!” “The cream is fresh now!” “Wake up, we have to cook!” “Is it OK if I operate the stove by myself?”

Ah, but you know I am totally chickenshit about the stove. So…we wait.

What's your poison? Drop me a line.

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