SUGAR KAZOO, A RECIPE

SEATTLE, Washington – Take two kids, preferably six- and 7.75-year-old girls. Add a dash of penny-squishing legal defiance at the Ballard locks. It's hard to misbehave in Seattle's old Scandinavian fishing village, but try to give Japanese tourists a thrill. And your spare coppers.

Inject ample sugar, courtesy of Cupcake Royale, home of the "Coconut Bunny" and "Dance Party with Holly Hobbie." Just FYI – before you get all square-dance indignant like me – the fresh-branded HH rocks the hip-huggers and is the (yeah, whatever) "granddaughter" of the classic bonneted version. It's bogus, sure, but don't be a hater!

Run through Archie McPhee, the world's kitsch omphalos: all the unicorns, bacon and ninjas a modern sophisticate needs.

When the giddy peaks – Masks! Wigs!! Wind-up sushi!!! – bring out the trusty SLR camera.

Incriminating shots stashed, lure everyone outside with promises they can kazoo home. Pray no one upchucks frosting into the whistles. Because, yeah, they're tweeting that hard. Right outside the humorless gentrified townhouses you loathe, strangely.

Allow children to ricochet off your garret's furniture. Then fret. All those sharp edges...

Add exercise balls for extra frisson. Hope no one bleeds from or on the vintage Raymond Chandler omnibus.

Whip to a souffle-style froth.

Ignore handsome scoundrels who cheat at Operation SpongeBob. Really, now, is the Patty Pleasure Center important enough to sacrifice your dignity? Supposing you have any to start with?

Drink wine, nosh pizza, watch Eloise. Discover that nonconformity is always in, dahlink, even if you can't be arsed to brush your hair. Savor this as a philosophy for the ages...

Wind down with baby yoga. Never mind that this primarily involves falling after absurd stunts, then laughing unto stomach cramps.

Rinse and repeat.