Thursday, September 20, 2012

It's Like Baking a (Motherfucking) Cake!

I should have known it was coming, what, with all the bragging I did about my GREAT PARENTING MOMENT, there was surely something that would spring up and remind me to just KEEP MY TRAP SHUT ALREADY. We'll call that...something...Wednesday. Wednesday was awful. I'd like to scrunch it up and ram it down a t-shirt gun and shoot it into an arena of Joe Bucks.

Or something.

But today is Thursday, I thought to myself this morning. Clean slate and all that. So after soaking my swollen, overcried eyeballs in a bucket of ice, I went to the closet and pulled out a new dress. I made a great breakfast for my husband and served some mediocre cereal to the children. Then I did my hair and drove Plus One to school. When we got back, I pulled out a Bundt pan. I'd never used it before, but--BY GOD--today that was going to change.

I found a delicious-sounding recipe on the Internet for some sort of Jewish holiday cake and got to work. Sure, my track record in my kitchen isn't the best, but I was feeling confident enough to break my own record. The mood was right, I had the time, and T9 was playing a counting game, and definitely not watching TV and/or playing the Wii and/or rotting his brain. So I got to it and busied myself in the kitchen.

About halfway through the recipe, however, I realized that I didn't have enough honey for the recipe. I texted my neighbor and friend, J, and asked if I could borrow some. But since she's NEVER THERE FOR ME WHEN I NEED HER MOST, she didn't reply. I made a substitute for the honey and popped the batter in the oven. Should be fine, I thought to myself.

Then I heard a knock on the door. It was J, holding a bottle of honey. She complimented my dress and the lovely aroma that came wafting from my front door.

"Oh, that's my cake!" I exclaimed, leading her to the kitchen to show her my prized accomplishment for the day. The very thing that, once finished and consumed by my adoring and appreciative family, would lift me from my bout of deep parenting-gone-wrong-induced depression.

Then this happened:


I'd left a measuring cup full of coffee on the counter.

PANIC. DISMAY. FAILURE.

Immediately, I pulled the cake pan out of the oven. It had been cooking for exactly 6 minutes, so I just poured the coffee on top, mixed it as best I could, and slammed the oven door shut again. Then I turned back to J with the look of someone trying to hide an elephant behind a palm tree.

"It'll be fine...I mean, right?" I was desperate for reassurance. MY LIFE WAS ON THE LINE OVER THIS GODDAMN CAKE.

"Sure! I mean...it might be hard to get out now...but you could always eat it out of the pan with a spoon!"

Then I threw her out of my house.

(Just kidding. She had to leave. I swallowed my pride and thanked her for saving my domestic street cred, relying on my faith that the cake, would, in fact, emerge from the Bundt pan unscathed.)

And then I went back to bed.

UPDATE:  The cake. It came out of the pan.



And you say there is no God?

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PS: I have picked and notified the winners of the Tactile Totes! Thanks to everyone that participated in the fun giveaway.