#17

Every other Monday night Amber makes a batch of something yummy that I’m not allowed to touch. Cookies, muffins, cupcakes...for the sake of this story we will categorize them all as masterful creations of yummyness (By the way, I have added “yummyness” to my Microsoft Word dictionary so that it will quit showing up with a red underline. Therefore “yummyness” is now officially a real word and y-u-m-m-y-n-e-s-s is its official spelling). I’m not allowed to eat said masterful creations of yummyness because they have been set aside for the girls in her MOPS (Mothers Of Preschoolers) group of which I am not a part. Not being a part of this group apparently means that not only am I not allowed to have one, I’m not allowed even a sample taste of said masterful creations of yummyness.

Still, because instinct forces me to, I ask every week. And every week I get the same “I’ll bring home what’s left and you can have it” answer. She has yet to come home with any “what’s left’s” for me to “have”.

This week Amber made a batch of cupcakes that were so moist that even gently picking them up to move them left soft little finger indents on the side. Only a thin layer of icing topped them as to not take away from the flavor of the cake. They were decorated with a ring of sprinkles around the edge that, though looked very attractive, I’m sure my stomach wouldn’t notice. I had to have one of these cupcakes.

Knowing what answer would come from straight forward ask approach, I decided to try a different approach. I counted them...17 cupcakes. That’s an odd number and just doesn’t look right. 16 cupcakes would look much more presentable. So, armed with this information, I approached the creator of these masterful creations of yummyness and with all humility pointed out the only flaw I could find in them...their number. And it worked.

As a dog that’s been chasing cars down this street for a long time, I really wasn’t sure what to do now that I’d finally caught one. I couldn’t just giddily skip into the kitchen and grab one. Before I’d have a chance to stuff it in my face the kids would see it and then they’d want one and the ensuing toddler begging would likely lead to me having to put my cupcake back and I wasn’t about to not have a cupcake now that I finally had a cupcake. No, I’d have to wait until later. Be patient, eventually the little likely cupcake spoiling critters would go to bed and then I could have #17.

The next morning I awoke and immediately remembered what in the midst of putting little likely cupcake spoiling critters to bed I had forgotten the night before. #17. Now the conundrum; If I wait until this afternoon there won’t be a #17; If I eat it now, I would be eating a cupcake for breakfast and cupcakes aren’t exactly breakfast food. As my mind continued running through my current options it stumbled across a memory of a similar situation faced by Bill Cosby.

The child wanted chocolate cake for breakfast! How ridiculous! And I said... and someone in my brain looked under chocolate cake and saw the ingredients: eggs! Eggs are in chocolate cake! And milk! Oh goody! And wheat! That's nutrition! "What do you want?" "Can I have some chocolate cake?" "Chocolate cake coming up."

Thank you Mr Cosby. Breakfast was wonderful.