Sunday, May 29, 2005

Its Not 'All in the Wrist'

Between my full-time job called life and my new part time job with, I’ve recently been so busy that A. and I have been greeting each other with “I’ve missed you!” despite the fact that we cohabit a 600 sq ft, one bedroom apartment. Full schedules usually come with an order of stress on the side (hold the perks, extra helping of hysteria, please), something I’ve never been good at dealing with despite all the coaching I’ve had over the years from my mother, the superhuman-multitasking-workaholic businesswoman.

It wasn’t a complicated job: I was just supposed to ice a cupcake. One cupcake. After about ten failed attempts, though, my patience with myself was beginning to wear thin. How hard can it be to ice a cupcake? You stick the icing in the piping bag, squirt and swirl, right?

Wrong. They all turned out so horribly that I considered taking pictures of them for something to look back on and laugh at one day, but even my best effort was so poor that I couldn’t bring myself to post a picture of it on a blog that only my mother reads. I tried every trick I had, but all I managed to consistently produce were piles of lopsided, ugly pink squiggles perched haphazardly atop cupcakes, making them look like a crowd of Indians who had turbaned themselves while under the influence. After almost an hour of icing efforts without a single worthy specimen to show for it, I did what any mature, rational girl would have done: I pouted. And then I slunk into bed and pouted there until I fell asleep.

I woke up and hour later to the sound of A. coming home from running errands. The black cloud hovering over me earlier that day clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed, because he had come back with the only thing that could possibly cheer me up…presents! Thoughtful (and wonderful, and sweet and perfect) guy that he is, A. had picked up the set of 20 piping nozzles I’d been eyeing for a while, and explained to a suddenly-all-sunshine-and-bluebirds me that there had to be the perfect cupcake icing nozzle in there somewhere.

There wasn’t, and I continued to churn out hideously iced cupcakes anyway, but when those pretty silver nozzles glittered and winked in the bright lights of our kitchen, I couldn’t help but wink back.