No cupcake left behind
Did your mother scold you for not eating everything on your dinner plate? God forbid we didn’t eat all our carrots and peas, because there were starving children in Botswana or somewhere.
For many years, I’ve battled poor will power when it comes to my love affair with food. There is no “good girl” title attached to cleaning my plate anymore, only bloated girl.
I can’t count how many times I’ve gone to a restaurant vowing not to eat everything on my plate. Only to whisper to myself, “ its only one more bite”; until “one more bite” equals no doggie box.
I’ve decided to blame my mother for my lack of will power. It feels healthier than self-pity.
Baking is a love of mine and damn it I’m good at it. Of all things to be good at, right? Why couldn’t I have been good at math instead? I would be far more useful, not to mention thinner.
For my best friends birthday, I decided to make her cupcakes. However, lately she’s been having a rough time. In this bakers mind, that meant “ginormous cupcakes”. I’m a carb whore at heart and where there’s hardship there is a carb that can temporarily do wonders. So I dug through the cabinets and found the biggest muffin pan and used it for my “ginormous cupcakes”.
By the time my friend had arrived they were a sprinkled Frankenstein creation and worthy of their title. These were not the type of cupcakes you aimlessly bite into. They were fork worthy and deserved to be slowly devoured with a slow jam playing in the background. I’m not gonna lie, I did the happy dance after my cupcake affair was over. (But was it over?)
My friend has always possessed a Jedi-like mindset. She used the force to avoid the temptation of taking the left over cupcakes home.
This is how the “ No cupcake left behind” initiative began. “ Take them to work”, she said. I agreed that was a good plan. However, later when the cupcakes and I were alone, I realized there were 4 other co- workers and only 3 cupcakes. How unfair would that be? Once they got a look at my divine cupcakes, fighting would definitely ensue. So, they remained at my home, (for fairness sake, of course).
My husband mentioned he would eat one, but he proved too slow. What’s mine is yours, but a carb whore can only stare at cupcakes for so long. You start to hear their feelings. The last one crying out to be eaten, and given a special home as the others had. Preferably the same home his friends went to. Its makes perfect sense…in my “ I have no will power” logic.
Once again I was up to the task, and cleaned my plate, or cupcake tray.
I blame my mother….