Southern Living but for Actual People

Last week, I was spending the day at my parents' house while Matt was tirelessly making me money. I thumbed through my mom's latest issue of Southern Living and read aloud all the outrageous and ridiculous things contained therein. On the front cover was this cake:

                                        

You have to make this cake days in advance. It's red velvet and cheesecake in alternating levels. My mom noted that there were only 10 steps to the cake but each step is a novel. Rolling things, stirring things, pouring things, freezing things. For a cake. I don't even put that much effort into my education, for goodness sake. Then they had a whole other section for those decorations. The things on the cake are coconut balls and chocolate leaves. Like painting actual leaves with chocolate and then pulling the dried chocolate off the leaves and placing them artistically around the cake. That's a fair amount of effort for something to be scarfed down by small humans who then finish up the dessert by foraging on the floor for Cheerios and dog fur. Not the mention the red dye-filled diapers I would be changing for days afterward.

Also in the magazine was a spread showcasing the dining rooms of three interior designers and their tips. One had on a ball gown in a red and gold gilt decorated dining room. The place settings had like 17 forks and napkins in the shape of various Mercedes-Benz models. Some of the decorators' tips were things like:

-Never use paper napkins, always cloth. Because I love doing laundry.
-Always use assigned seating with elegant placecards and place people together with similar interests. A table for those who can belch the alphabet, a table for those with IBS, a table for those who would like to discuss how snooty this dinner party is...
-Dinner prep consists of high heels, Christmas music, and a glass of wine. A snuggie, Judge Judy on the tv, and a shot of whiskey...

I was reading these pretentious tips aloud to my mom, who was pouring boxed brownie mix into a disposable aluminum pan and remarking on the broken bits of toys strewn all over the counter. Meanwhile, my toddlers were pushing their baby strollers around. Noah had dutifully strapped his naked baby doll into the stroller before tearing down the hallway and crashing. Safety first. Behind him, Tali was taking an empty container of yogurt raisins for a walk.

It's going to be a classy Christmas this year, I can already tell.