Thanks to unbridled bursts of dedication and creativity, I had an elaborate and diverse portfolio. Cookies, breads, biscuits, cakes-I could do it all.
|Baguette with goat cheese.|
Some time ago, I believe it was two weeks, I promised to make a cake for a friend's birthday. I was in the zone, having created a sinful, chocolate-chip cupcake with peanut buttercup filling and peanut butter frosting just a week before for another friend's Quadranscentennial.
|That's a mini-peanut butter cup in the middle.|
Admittedly, I was rushed. I went for the box cake, which I never do, but this box cake was from a celebrated Baltimore cake-master whose reality show was only recently canceled to make room for more shows about horrible parenting.
I trusted, and that was my downfall.
This was no average cake. It had complicated instructions designed to create a zebra pattern that is just so hot with the young people right now. Because of several personality defects exacerbated by a year of law school, I followed the directions with the same gravitas and perfectionism normally reserved for defusing bombs.
|So hot right now.|
As the cakes cooled, I examined the tub of frosting. Amazingly, there was no dairy in buttercream frosting, which is why it should only be consumed straight out of the container while drunk, lest that conundrum be contemplated and the space-time continuum tear asunder.
And I followed my creation into the darkness.
There is a scene in Gone With the Wind where the camera pans on an infinite field of carnage. My baking troubles were not of the same magnitude, but I have the coping skills of a Southern damsel, so there was no telling me that. In my desperate attempts to save the cake, I had used every clean piece of cutlery at my disposal, throwing each aside like a combat surgeon. All in vain.
|It got worse because we ate some.|
|That knife is just unsettling.|
After briefly deciding to skip the party, I dismissed the thought as histrionic. Instead, I made a dress out of my drapes and held my head high. Another, stronger, woman wouldn't have let this setback end her dreams. She would have scraped the congealed frosting off the stove and tried again tomorrow. That woman doesn't have 6-figures worth of debt and 100 pages to read before yesterday. That woman can bake my cakes from now on.
As God is my witness, I will never bake again.
|Leave no trace...except the dishes.|
You read that right. This month, all the posts on the challenge grid are family-free. How can I resist an excuse to continue to ignore my family?