This morning's episode in nincompoopery unfolds with our heroine lighting her crown on fire.
A work colleague brought the ubiquitous galette des rois for breakfast, and suggested that I heat it up a bit.
My mastery of the microwave has been much-touted around this office. Feats such as "warming coffee" have been regarded - until today - as some sort of American birthright.
That's all over now. For I forgot, being unaccustomed to toys-in-food, to remove the foil crown from the box. That's right - a galette des rois comes complete with a party hat, one that's awarded to she (me) who finds the little toy hidden in her slice.
It's only fair, they said, that I should have to wear the blackened crown for the morning. A french tradition, they told me.
It wasn't an altogether unfitting uniform in which to discover that I'm up for a Bloggie. A diaper would have made the outfit complete, considering what nearly happened when I read the news.
If you feel like rooting for the underdog, you can vote here until February 02.