I promised the wife I would never write this story, but Tuesday’s a coming and I got nothing else.

She and the 95-year-old house elf were about to enable my cookie addiction with a brand new batch of sugar cookies for Easter.

As usual, I was in the back of the house takin’ a shit, when the kitchen went all a flutter.

Wiped and washed; went to investigate and what did I see?

A sugar moma staring back at me…

That white powder is not the fun stuff from Miami… that’s a pound of powdered sugar spun through the air.

Apparently if you plug in the high powered food mixer, first you should check if it is already set to “aerate”.

Or…or… you should not fill it with a pound of powdered sugar first.

Who knew?

Now we all do. The kitchen looked like a scene from I Love Lucy or Scarface (depending on if it’s a comedy or tragedy).

Don’t worry. The batch was saved and all the Savage children will get their fucking sugar cookies for Easter Sunday. Happy ending — comedy.

I didn’t even get the broken ones this time. Apparently, taking pictures and laughing and not lifting a finger to help clean up is “inappropriate behavior” for a husband.

Good thing she doesn’t even bother to read this bullshit blog.