“Well,” he started. “Does it make you happy or sad after you eat it?”
“Happy. Very happy,” I spit out with no hesitation. I had been going on and on about my favorite cupcake joint in the whole world. I may have even stuffed a menu in my pocket and flapped it around at dinner.
I don’t know too many adults that love cupcakes as much as I. I claim myself as an original connoisseur, way back when they only came by the dozen at Jewel-Osco or out of my mother’s oven. “We had cupcakes at our wedding before cupcakes were cool,” I tell friends who got married after 2006 with an unattractive smugness.
Now it’s time to go public with my obsession. I’m starting a new, just for kicks feature on the blog called “Yes, Cupcakes” in which I feature pics of some local treats – and a few further afield. Five pounds later with a belly pooch to boot, you’re welcome.
I worry that loving cupcakes this much is inordinately girlie, like the squirrel pillow on my bed or the My Little Pony figurine on my dresser. Then I remember that there’s no good reason a Christian feminist like me shouldn’t be allowed her happy place. Even if it is filled with pixie dust posing as sugar.