Did you make a valentine’s day scrapbook? Well you should have, and it should have gone something like this:
There are rabbits there. If you squint. Look, I can’t do all the work. Use your imagination, romantic parasite-infested beasts of fluffy destruction – small enough and cute enough to make you regress to infantile exclamations of joy. Imagine it. Get involved.
That, dear friends, is how you have a glorious Valentine’s Day.
So to continue this week’s theme of no-brow entertainment, Writerly Wednesday has been hijacked by sugar because I ate cupcakes for dinner last night I’m cutesy like that.
Yesterday was my roommate’s birthday. She is cuter than baby buttons on a bow tie around the neck of a teacup puppy. So we had cupcakes for dinner, because we’re real adults.
Now, unpopular opinion: I hate cupcakes. I’m not a fan of icing or frosting or whatever-the-fuck. I’m not girly. In fact I learnt about hair and make-up and gettin all girlyfied from YouTube. I’m a muffin fan. Plan ‘ol muffins.
I feel like cupcakes are muffins with some sort of awful discharge that they’ve ignored and it’s all just gotten out of hand.
Go to the gyno cupcakes, for everyone’s sake.
Wait-what? Moving on.
It’s not that I don’t understand the appeal of cupcakes. In many ways they sound like my kind of thing. Tiny. Decorative. Filled with sugar. My problem is they’re just a huge anti-climax. You work yourself up into delirious excitement at the thought of eating this:
But when you bite into them they taste like this:
They just never taste as good as they look. They set you up with false expectations from the start.
They start out really nice, they take you out to dinner and you laugh and joke like old times, you start thinking maybe you could give this another go, maybe things have changed. Then they criticise your lack of consistency and your need for freedom and you realise the icing isn’t what you thought it was, it’s too gritty, even for you. What you thought was a soft inner layer of chocolate cake is actually dry and humorless. Looking at them now you realise they were never that attractive to begin with. The sweetness is artificial and their manic color leaves marks that will take weeks to remove from your heart tablecloth.
Wait-what? Moving on.
Long story short: don’t eat cupcakes. They have a martyr complex are bad for you.
Jokes aside, some cupcakes are down right scary, and I’m not referring to these:
I’m talking about the ones that are designed to be adorable with cute little faces. The kind of cakes people make just so they can Instagram how adorable they are their creations are. Only it ends up giving you the impression that if you stare at the cupcakes for too long they’ll reach inside you and rip out your soul.
The kind of blank stare and creepy smile that feeds on your willingness to look like a homemaker while simultaneously shitting bad luck from every sugared molecule.
As with a lot of my food these days, I’d rather my confectionery didn’t have a face. Thanks all the same.
What is the moral of this Writerly Wednesday story? I have no idea. I’m still trying to get a full night’s sleep without waking up in a cold sweat thinking there’s an assessment due tomorrow.
Want more disgusting cupcakes that look like diseases? Sure you do! Click here and here and here.
Finally, I’m going to leave you with this little morsel in the hopes that you’ll make sense of it, because I sure as hell can’t.