Eating My Daughter's Banana Bread

Just because I have a dairy allergy doesn't mean I have to live the life of a buddhist priest. Especially when there are insanely divine desserts around like, for instance, oh. . . Banana Bread. I have a daughter who is without mercy. She is Dr. Evil without Mini Me.




She baked. I ate.

Allergies stink. I'm all kinds of thankful I don't have a peanut or wheat allergy. Dairy though can be brutal to my super sensitive spidey senses. Since I've practically picked at half the banana bread baked with a minimum of 4 eggs and 500 pounds of of butter, my skin is itching as if I've happily walked through a field of poison poppy, bathed in a bathwater of poison ivy.

I confess I do have the mama of all antihistimines but it guarantees nothing. I can still wake up tomorrow morning looking as bright and sunny as a sprouting potato stuck in the back drawer for a horrifying amount of time.

At least, I enjoyed it while I can. Dr. Evil or not, my girl can bake.