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.
OMG, my fellow inebriates! As you know, my parents don’t always come through for me. But today….Today was another story.
When Mum came home with cream, chocolate, and other Martha Stewart–style ingredients in a shopping bag, I didn’t get too excited.
Then Dad came home with a big honking bottle of cheap-ass Canadian whisky.
Guess what we’re making??
I wanted to make it last year but it never happened.
Did you guess? Did you???
OMG, MFI, we’re making our own IRISH CREAM LIQUEUR. Yes!!! Except it’ll be CANADIAN CREAM LIQUEUR because we’re using Canadian booze. As soon as everybody gets home, we’ll start (in Breaking Bad parlance) the cook. This day is going to crawl by….
Here’s my first crack at a label for our concoction. Thoughts?