Strawberry Shortcake Quotes

But this room looked like it had been decorated by the unholy lovechild of Barbie and Strawberry Shortcake.

Assumptions are dangerous things to make, and like all dangerous things to make -- bombs, for instance, or strawberry shortcake -- if you make even the tiniest mistake you can find yourself in terrible trouble. Making assumptions simply means believing things are a certain way with little or no evidence that shows you are correct, and you can see at once how this can lead to terrible trouble. For instance, one morning you might wake up and make the assumption that your bed was in the same place that it always was, even though you would have no real evidence that this was so. But when you got out of your bed, you might discover that it had floated out to sea, and now you would be in terrible trouble all because of the incorrect assumption that you'd made. You can see that it is better not to make too many assumptions, particularly in the morning.

I guess I've been waiting so long I'm looking for perfection. That makes it tough." "Waiting for perfect love?" "No, even I know better than that. I'm looking for selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you're doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don't want it anymore and throw it out the window. That's what I'm looking for.

A life with Ren was harder to picture. We didn't look as if we belonged together. It was like matching up Ken with Strawberry Shortcake. He needed Barbie.

Kate smirked. "What?" "Your horse looks pink." "So?" "If you paste some stars on her butt you'll be riding My Little Pony." "Bugger off." I patted the mare's neck. "Don't listen to her, Sugar. You are the cutest horsey ever. The correct name for her color is strawberry roan, by the way." "Strawberry Shortcake, more like it. Does Strawberry Shortcake know you stole her horse? She will be berry, berry angry with you." I looked at her from under half-lowered eyelids. "I can shoot you right here, on this road, and nobody will ever find your body.

I made up my mind I was going to find someone who would love me unconditionally three hundred and sixty five days a year, I was still in elementary school at the time - fifth or sixth grade - but I made up my mind once and for all.” “Wow,” I said. “Did the search pay off?” “That’s the hard part,” said Midori. She watched the rising smoke for a while, thinking. “I guess I’ve been waiting so long I’m looking for perfection. That makes it tough.” “Waiting for the perfect love?” “No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.” “I’m not sure that has anything to do with love,” I said with some amazement. “It does,” she said. “You just don’t know it. There are time in a girl’s life when things like that are incredibly important.” “Things like throwing strawberry shortcake out the window?” “Exactly. And when I do it, I want the man to apologize to me. “Now I see, Midori. What a fool I have been! I should have known that you would lose your desire for strawberry shortcake. I have all the intelligence and sensitivity of a piece of donkey shit. To make it up to you, I’ll go out and buy you something else. What would you like? Chocolate Mousse? Cheesecake?” “So then what?” “So then I’d give him all the love he deserves for what he’s done.” “Sounds crazy to me.” “Well, to me, that’s what love is…

Holy shit, Strawberry Shortcake just ran me over.

I love strawberries. I'm so lovesick, I eat them constantly. Can I nickname you Shortcake? It'll be a dead giveaway that I love you.

If it turned out Brandon Stark also likes to dress up as Strwberry Shortcake while playing croquet with his miniture pony collection, I totally wouldn't be surprised anymore.

If chocolate were a mandatory part of breakfast, people wouldn’t be so grouchy in the morning.

Strawberry Shortcake called, she wants her outfit back

Oh Christ. Put me back with the zombies, Strawberry Shortcake." [p. 411]

The "Holy-crap-that's-a-lot-of-pink" Zone would have been a more accurate description. I don't know what I was expecting a vampire's room to look like. Maybe lots of black, a bunch of books by Camus...oh, and a sensitive portrait of the only human the vamp had ever loved, who had no doubt died of something beautiful and tragic, thus dooming the vamp to an eternity of moping and sighing romantically. What can I say? I read a lot of books. But this room looked like it had been decorated by the unholy lovechild of Barbie and Strawberry Shortcake.

Assumptions are dangerous things to make, and like all dangerous things to make - bombs, for instance, or strawberry shortcake - if you make even the tiniest mistake you can find yourself in terrible trouble.

It was as if Strawberry Shortcake fucked Winston Churchill, and nine months later, Shannon Walsh was born.

Nothing screams SUMMER like strawberry shortcake, and yet in Florida the season for strawberries is December through March! But then, by March the daytime temperature is likely to be in the mid-70s to low 80s. So, it’s really easy to think “Ahhh, summer’s almost here.” So, when we planned a BD Party for our friend Bob Mason, we said, “It’s strawberry season! Let’s party!

So I made up my mind I was going to find someone who would love me unconditionally three hundred and sixty five days a year, I was still in elementary school at the time - fifth or sixth grade - but I made up my mind once and for all.” -“Wow,” I said. “Did the search pay off?” “That’s the hard part,” said Midori. She watched the rising smoke for a while, thinking. “I guess I’ve been waiting so long I’m looking for perfection. That makes it tough.” -“Waiting for the perfect love?” “No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.” -“I’m not sure that has anything to do with love,” I said with some amazement. “It does,” she said. “You just don’t know it. There are time in a girl’s life when things like that are incredibly important.” -“Things like throwing strawberry shortcake out the window?” “Exactly. And when I do it, I want the man to apologize to me. “Now I see, Midori. What a fool I have been! I should have known that you would lose your desire for strawberry shortcake. I have all the intelligence and sensitivity of a piece of donkey shit. To make it up to you, I’ll go out and buy you something else. What would you like? Chocolate Mousse? Cheesecake?” -“So then what?” “So then I’d give him all the love he deserves for what he’s done.” -“Sounds crazy to me.” “Well, to me, that’s what love is…

All right. Here's the deal, bigshot: suck my cock. Do that and I'll let you go. Straight trade." He unzipped his fly and pulled down the elastic front of his shorts. Something that looked like a dead whitesnake fell out. Johnny observed the thin stream of blood driz-zling from it without surprise. The cop was bleeding from every other orifice, wasn't he? "Speaking in the literature sense," the cop said, grinning, "this particular blowjob is going to be a little more Anne Rice than Armistead Maupin. I suggest you follow Queen Victoria's advice - close your eyes and think of strawberry shortcake.

There was something wonderful about a blank sheet of notepaper. The lines were there, just waiting to be filled, and the page could turn into anything from a grocery list to the opening of The Great American Novel. The possibilities were endless.

Does Strawberry Shortcake know you stole her horse? She will be berry, berry angry with you.” I

No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.

But this room looked like it had been decorated by the unholy lovechild of Barbie and Strawberry Shortcake. It was bigger than I expected , but still small. Hawkins, Rachel (2010-05-28). Hex Hall Book One (p. 33). Disney. Kindle Edition.

No Shep, I am serious. I need you to make me laugh again. I need us to be us. Shep and Lilly. Chocolate Muffin and Strawberry Shortcake. Us. Happy, silly, and free. Promise me you will make me laugh when all this is done,” I said and could hear the pleading in my voice. “I promise Lilly. I will make you laugh again. We will be us. We will be happy. Our son will be happy. He will laugh and be silly and free. I promise you,” he said before kissing the top of my head and I finally believed him. I believed in him

You seem to like pink,” I said. “Grandfather likes it. He says I look pretty in pink.” “You do,” I said. And she did. Chubby girls in pink tend to conjure up images of big strawberry shortcakes waltzing on a dance floor, but in her case the color suited her.

It’s true I’ve got a cold streak. I recognize that. But if they—my father and mother—had loved me a little more, I would have been able to feel more—to feel real sadness, for example.” “Do you think you weren’t loved enough?” She tilted her head and looked at me. Then she gave a sharp, little nod. “Somewhere between ‘not enough’ and ‘not at all.’ I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it—to be fed so much love I couldn’t take any more. Just once. But they never gave that to me. Never, not once. If I tried to cuddle up and beg for something, they’d just shove me away and yell at me. ‘No! That costs too much!’ It’s all I ever heard. So I made up my mind I was going to find someone who would love me unconditionally three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I was still in elementary school at the time—fifth or sixth grade—but I made up my mind once and for all.” “Wow,” I said. “And did your search pay off?” “That’s the hard part,” said Midori. She watched the rising smoke for a while, thinking. “I guess I’ve been waiting so long I’m looking for perfection. That makes it tough.” “Waiting for the perfect love?” “No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.” “I’m not sure that has anything to do with love,” I said with some amazement. “It does,” she said. “You just don’t know it. There are times in a girl’s life when things like that are incredibly important.” “Things like throwing strawberry shortcake out the window?” “Exactly. And when I do it, I want the man to apologize to me. ‘Now I see, Midori. What a fool I’ve been! I should have known that you would lose your desire for strawberry shortcake. I have all the intelligence and sensitivity of a piece of donkey shit. To make it up to you, I’ll go out and buy you something else. What would you like? Chocolate mousse? Cheesecake?’” “So then what?” “So then I’d give him all the love he deserves for what he’s done.” “Sounds crazy to me.” “Well, to me, that’s what love is. Not that anyone can understand me, though.” Midori gave her head a little shake against my shoulder. “For a certain kind of person, love begins from something tiny or silly. From something like that or it doesn’t begin at all.” “I’ve never met a girl who thinks like you.

I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.

How did we get here? How, like Tootle the Train, did we get so off track? Perhaps it’s time to revisit these beloved stories and start all over again. Trying to figure out where you belong, like Scuffy the Tugboat? Maybe, as time marches on, you’re beginning to feel that you resemble the Saggy Baggy Elephant. Or perhaps your problems are more sweeping. Like the Poky Little Puppy, do you seem to be getting into trouble rather often and missing out on the strawberry shortcake of life? Maybe this book can help you! After all, Little Golden Books were first published during the dark days of World War II, and they’ve been comforting people during trying times ever since—while gently teaching us a thing or two. And they remind us that we’ve had the potential to be wise and content all along.

When the journalist asked me about my body, it was like she was asking me to awaken her from the most gorgeous dream. I have seen that dream all my life... The Dream smells like peppermint but tastes like strawberry shortcake. And for so long I have wanted to escape into the dream, to fold my country over my head like a blanket. But this has never been an option because the Dream rests on our backs, the bedding made from our bodies.

Waiting for the perfect love?” “No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.

Hannah? Tell me you didn’t…” Delores paused to clear her throat, and when she spoke again, she sounded very tentative. “Did you?” “I’m afraid I did, Mother. I found Lucy last night.” “Hannah! You’ve simply got to stop doing things like this!” “It’s not like a scavenger hunt, Mother. I don’t go around looking for murder victims on purpose.” Hannah realized she sounded

I'm no expert when it comes to confectionery, but I understand that unsalted butter is used as standard in baking. By contrast, the West buttercream uses salted butter. That salinity really brings out the overall sweetness of the cake, adding depth to its richness. The sponge has a satisfying density to it, declaring itself roughly on the tongue, scented like eggs and flour. The Christmas cakes I've eaten up until now have all been shortcakes, and it's always seemed to me that the delicate, fluffy whipped cream and the sweet sourness of the strawberries obliterate the aroma and the texture of the sponge.

Over the next two hours, we sampled from cheese plates, charcuterie platters, salads, roasted vegetables, tarts, and two risottos. I knew we were nowhere near done, but I was glad I'd worn a stretchy, forgiving dress. Next came the pastas, spring vegetables tossed with prawns and cavatappi, a beautiful macaroni and cheese, and a lasagna with duck ragù. It didn't end there---Chloé began to bring out the meats---a beautiful pork loin in a hazelnut cream sauce, a charming piece of bone-in chicken breast coated in cornflakes, a peppery filet mignon, and a generous slice of meat loaf with a tangy glaze. My favorite was the duck in marionberry sauce---the skin had been rubbed with an intoxicating blend of spices, the meat finished with a sweet, tangy sauce. It tasted like summer and Oregon all at once. We planned to open in mid-August, so the duck with fresh berries would be a perfect item for the opening menu. While I took measured bites from most of the plates, I kept the duck near and continued to enjoy the complex flavors offered by the spices and berry. Next came the desserts, which Clementine brought out herself. She presented miniatures of her pastry offerings---a two-bite strawberry shortcake with rose liqueur-spiked whipped cream, a peach-and-brown-sugar bread pudding served on the end of a spoon, a dark chocolate torte with a hint of cinnamon, and a trio of melon ball-sized scoops of gelato.

I guess I've been waiting so long I'm looking for perfection. That makes it tough." "Waiting for the perfect love?" "No, even I know better than that. I'm looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you're doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don't want it anymore and throw it out the window. That's what I'm looking for." "I'm not sure that has anything to do with love," I said with amazement. "It does," she said. "You just don't know it. There are times in a girl's life when things like that are incredibly important." "Things like throwing strawberry shortcake out the window?" "Exactly. And when I do it, I want the man to apologize to me. 'Now I see, Midori. What a fool I've been! I should have known that you would lose your desire for strawberry shortcake. I have all the intelligence and sensitivity of a piece of donkey shit. To make it up to you, I'll go out and buy you something else. What would you like? Chocolate mousse? Cheesecake?' " "So then what?" "So then I'd give him all the love he deserves for what he's done." "Sounds crazy to me." "Well, to me, that's what love is. Not that anyone can understand me though." Midori gave her head a little shake against my shoulder. "For a certain kind of person, love begins from something tiny or silly. From something like that or it doesn't begin at all.

Why do you have my dress?” I march over, yanking her other drawers open to see what other treasures were waiting to be discovered. Just as I suspected, I find my grandmother’s antique, diamond-encrusted timepiece resting in a Strawberry Shortcake pencil box. I fired the last housekeeper over this missing watch. Another opened drawer contains a box of chocolate cupcakes and a half-eaten bag of family-sized potato chips, crumbs scattered and sticking to her winter sweaters. Shaking my head, I mutter her name under my breath.

Oatmeal Raisin Crisps Preheat oven to 375° F., rack in the middle position. 1 cup melted butter (2 sticks—½ pound) 2 cups white sugar 2 teaspoons vanilla ½ teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons baking soda 2 large eggs, beaten (just whip them up with a fork) 2 ½ cups flour (no need to sift) 1 cup raisins (either regular or golden, you choose) 2 cups GROUND dry oatmeal (measure before grinding) Melt the butter in a large microwave-safe bowl. Add the sugar and mix. Then mix in the vanilla, salt, and the baking soda. When the mixture has cooled to room temperature, stir in the eggs. Add the flour and stir it all up. Then mix in the raisins. Prepare your oatmeal. (Use Quakers if you have it—the cardboard canister is useful for all sorts of things.) Measure out 2 cups and dump it in the food processor, chopping it with the steel blade until it’s the consistency of coarse sand. Dump it in your dough and mix it all up. (This dough will be fairly stiff.) Roll walnut-sized dough balls with your hands and place them on a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a standard sheet. (If it’s too sticky to roll, place the bowl in the refrigerator for 30 minutes and try again.) Squish the dough balls down with a fork in a crisscross pattern (like peanut butter cookies). Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes. Cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes, then remove the cookies to a wire rack to cool completely. Andrea likes these and she’s never liked raisins—go figure. Chapter Ten Andrea shivered as Hannah parked at the end of Vera Olsen’s alley.

No excuses,” Miss Hardy said firmly. “It won’t take you any time to drive out there. I’ll whip up a strawberry shortcake while you’re gone.” “In that case,” Frank said, laughing, “we’ll leave right away.

Kate smirked. “What?” “Your horse looks pink.” “So?” “If you paste some stars on her butt, you’ll be riding My Little Pony.” “Bugger off.” I patted the mare’s neck. “Don’t listen to her, Sugar. You are the cutest horsey ever. The correct name for her color is strawberry roan, by the way.” “Strawberry shortcake, more like it. Does Strawberry Shortcake know you stole her horse? She will be berry, berry angry with you.

Waiting for the perfect love?” “No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.” “I’m not sure that has anything to do with love,” I said with some amazement. “It does,” she said. “You just don’t know it. There are time in a girl’s life when things like that are incredibly important.” “Things like throwing strawberry shortcake out the window?” “Exactly. And when I do it, I want the man to apologize to me. “Now I see, Midori. What a fool I have been! I should have known that you would lose your desire for strawberry shortcake. I have all the intelligence and sensitivity of a piece of donkey shit. To make it up to you, I’ll go out and buy you something else. What would you like? Chocolate Mousse? Cheesecake?” “So then what?” “So then I’d give him all the love he deserves for what he’s done.” “Sounds crazy to me.” “Well, to me, that’s what love is…

Strawberry Shortcake Swensen Serves 12 (or 6 if they ask for second helpings) To make this dessert, you will need: Pound Plus Cake*, three boxes of ripe strawberries, and a bowl of Hannah’s Whipped Crème Fraiche.

The Dream smells like peppermint but tastes like strawberry shortcake.

white

It wasn’t hard to track Stevie down in the crowd. Lizzie found the girl in the purple tank fairly easily then scanned a twenty-yard radius looking for the boy. Sure enough, there he was, skulking behind a shortcake booth, eyes huge as he watched the purple tank girl enjoying a strawberry ice cream cone. Not wanting to embarrass the kid, she told Finn she’d round Stevie up then meet him and Annie back at the minivan. She surreptitiously circled the booth until she came up behind Stevie. In her best secret-agent voice, while pretending she didn’t see him, she whispered, “Psst, the eagle takes flight in five minutes. I repeat, the eagle takes flight in five minutes.” She saw Stevie’s body grow rigid, then relax. “Roger that,” he said under his breath.

If chocolate were a mandatory part of breakfast, people wouldn’t be so grouchy in the morning.

The Dream smells like peppermint but tastes like strawberry shortcake. And for so long I have wanted to escape into the Dream, to fold my country over my head like a blanket. But this has never been an option because the Dream rests on our backs, the bedding made from our bodies. And knowing this, knowing that the Dream persists by warring with the known world, I was sad for the host.

Strawberry Shortcake Pops

Books by Joanne Fluke CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE MURDER STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE MURDER BLUEBERRY MUFFIN MURDER LEMON MERINGUE PIE MURDER FUDGE CUPCAKE MURDER SUGAR COOKIE MURDER PEACH COBBLER MURDER CHERRY CHEESECAKE MURDER KEY LIME PIE MURDER CANDY CANE MURDER CARROT CAKE MURDER CREAM PUFF MURDER PLUM PUDDING MURDER APPLE TURNOVER MURDER DEVIL’S FOOD CAKE MURDER GINGERBREAD COOKIE MURDER JOANNE FLUKE’S LAKE EDEN COOKBOOK CINNAMON ROLL MURDER RED VELVET CUPCAKE MURDER Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

When the journalist asked me about my body, it was like she was asking me to awaken her from the most gorgeous dream. I have seen that dream all my life. It is perfect houses with nice lawns. It is Memorial Day cookouts, block associations, and driveways. The Dream is treehouses and the Cub Scouts. The Dream smells like peppermint but tastes like strawberry shortcake. And for so long I have wanted to escape into the Dream, to fold my country over my head like a blanket. But this has never been an option because the Dream rests on our backs, the bedding made from our bodies.

The German chocolate cake was easy. So was the vanilla buttercream. But the strawberry shortcake gave me fits. Turns out, the final fix came when I baked a fresh strawberry in the middle of a vanilla sour-cream batter instead of strawberry batter with chunks of strawberries.

We would shop for each other and then meet at Walgreens for lunch and eat strawberry shortcake and exchange presents.

There was something really wrong with the system when a teacher could make more money flipping burgers at a fast food chain.

She reached for a bottle on the counter behind Eleanor and rubbed a drop of vanilla behind each of the girl's ears. Eleanor raised her shoulders like it tickled. "Why do you always do that? I smell like a Strawberry Shortcake doll." "I do it," her mom said, "because it's cheaper than perfume, but it smells just as good." Then she rubbed some vanilla behind her own ears and laughed.

was

When the journalist asked me about my body, it was like she was asking me to awaken her from the most gorgeous dream. I have seen that dream all my life. It is perfect houses with nice lawns. It is Memorial Day cookouts, block associations, and driveways. The Dream is treehouses and the Cub Scouts. The Dream smells like peppermint but tastes like strawberry shortcake. And for so long I have wanted to escape into the Dream, to fold my country over my head like a blanket.

This time it was a strawberry shortcake with homemade whipped cream. If Angela closed her eyes, she could still remember the fluffy perfection of the shortcake, the ripe flavor of the strawberries, the sweet thickness of the cream. But more than that, she remembered a summer day from her childhood that the cake made her recall. She'd been only seven years old, and on the hottest day of the summer, she and Daddy had gone down to Sweet Creek, which ran right through town, meandering behind houses and through the park, until it emptied into Dove Pond itself. Daddy had loved creeks, and there was nothing he liked better than to roll up his pants and walk barefoot over rocks worn smooth by cool, shimmering water. She'd learned to love that same experience herself. That summer day, the heat of the late afternoon had dissipated as the coolness of the water washed over their feet. They'd held hands as they walked, and had laughed and talked as they splashed and scared off more fish than she could count. Oh, how she relished that memory. And Ella's cake had made it so immediate, so real, that when Angela had finished swallowing the final bite, she'd had to wipe away happy tears. That had been one of the best days of her life. But then that was the beauty of an Ella Dove cake. It wasn't just the flawlessness of the bake, or the richness of the flavors, although they were something to behold themselves. It was the unexpected memories of those perfect combinations of flavor and texture stirred. The glimpses of special, exquisite moments from one's past were astoundingly real and, oh, so precious.

The Dream is treehouses and the Cub Scouts. The Dream smells like peppermint but tastes like strawberry shortcake. And for so long I have wanted to escape into the Dream, to fold my country over my head like a blanket. But this has never been an option because the Dream rests on our backs, the bedding made from our bodies.

When Gin first told her she was going to throw a party, a Rainbow Party, Sandy’s mind was full of Care Bears and Strawberry Shortcake. She knew it sounded odd, since Gin rarely liked childish things like that, even for their retro appeal. But Care Bears and Strawberry Shortcake stuff were sold at Hot Topic next to Good Charlotte, Metallica and Iron Maiden. Sandy assumed that rainbows from the ‘70s were the new “in” thing.

A book is your friend, and you don’t break a friend’s back.

After dinner the doors of the apartment were thrown open and everyone, whether invited or not, could partake of the "sweet table": slices of cheesecake, bundt cake, strudel, rugelach, strawberry shortcake prepared with sponge cake, honey cake, macaroons, chocolate cake, Linzer torte, nut cookies, lemon cookies, sugar cookies, hamantaschen, prune Danish and cinnamon twists- mountains of everything.

Belinda. “He is really proud of them.’’ “Fresh strawberry shortcake it will be, then.

strawberry shortcake, Crème Brule, and Dutch apple pie arrived,

Investigating is a process of elimination. You have to explore all the possibilities, and whatever’s left, no matter how implausible, has got to be it.

Make yourself comfortable, shortcake." "Shortcake" Jace asks with curiosity. "But she's tall. " Riley laughs, "Hehah. Thats what I said." "Her hair is strawberry blonde. But its because she blushes like-" Riley slaps her hand over my mouth. And Jace's eye brows shoot up. I do the only mature thing and lick her palm, grinning like an idiot when she pulls her hand away. "You just licked me." I lean down so I am level with her ear. I know Jace can hear me but I don't care. "That. Was just a taste test." Her cheeks stain as Jace walks over with our cocktails. Some cranberry concoction he has been obsessed with. He hand Riley the drink then his devious hazel eyes flash to me. " I get the shortcake nickname now. And I just so happen to like that treat too

When the kids were growing and Frank was still in construction, I made sure all our meals ended with something sweet. Frank deserved it. Sour cream brownies, banana pie made with vanilla wafers, lemon poppy-seed pound cake, strawberry shortcake, almond-scented tapioca, pecan blondies (oh... my... God, those are good), butter brickle ice cream with butterscotch, angel food cake with rhubarb compote, gingerbread with hard sauce, and on Saturday nights, peppermint ice cream sundaes topped with homemade hot fudge.

Sour cream brownies, banana pie made with vanilla wafers, lemon poppy-seed pound cake, strawberry shortcake, almond-scented tapioca, pecan blondies (oh... my... God, those are good), butter brick ice cream with butterscotch, angel food cake with rhubarb compote, gingerbread with hard sauce, and on Saturday nights, peppermint ice cream sundaes topped with homemade hot fudge.