Cupcakes
Product review: Store bought cupcakes. Cupcakes are fun for kid’s parties, or to bring to school. Other than that, cupcakes are the universal sign that life is just too much, and you’re giving up. When you’re 85, in a nursing home, and for your birthday, the orderlies bring you a single cupcake with a candle in it, because no one else is coming and they felt that had to do the bare minimum: that’s what cupcakes are for when you’re an adult. They are the face of despair.
When you are sad, or had a rough day, you buy yourself some cupcakes to eat at home, alone, in a personal pity party. You don’t want the shame of eating half a cake, only to have it sit there for a couple of more days to elevate your shame until you devour the rest angrily or throw it in the trash. You fool yourself into thinking that you’re just eating a couple of small cupcakes, that’s not so bad, is it?
You are lying to yourself. You can go to a fancy bakery, you can get artisanal cupcakes made by some ancient woman from the old country, or a hipster with hoops in his ears if it makes you feel better. You are still purchasing a lie. You are just buying the half a cake in a less judgemental portion size, like when you only get 20 or 40 dollars worth of drugs to prove you aren’t addicted, but you buy 20 or 40 dollars worth seven times a night. You can bake them yourself, and tell yourself that you enjoy baking, and maybe you’ll bring some to work for others. You are an enabler, and you just want to see other people eating your sugar bombs of misery so you can feel better about the 6 you ate last night. And the other 10 you put aside to eat tonight when you get home. It is all so sad and pathetic, and you are weak.
Then there are those of us that can’t be bothered selling ourselves the lie anymore. We know the score. We know how dark our souls have become, and the absurdity and futility of life. We just go to the grocery store and buy a plastic box full of mass produced chemical treats. The thing is, like everything in life, cupcakes are a tradeoff. Sure, you aren’t dealing with the guilt of a whole cake, but you give up certain things for that. Cupcakes are never quite as moist and delicious as a piece of really good cake. You don’t have to get all messy peeling paper off of a cake. You eat cake off a plate, with a fork, usually at a table. You eat cupcakes on the couch or over a sink, getting crumbs everywhere. Sometimes you will find a little bit of icing on a part of your body hours later, not even sure how it got there.
The store bought cupcakes are the biggest betrayal of all; to baked goods, to joy, to your inner child. And these are the mini cupcakes, for the ultimate delusion. They’re so tiny! They can’t be bad for you! But make no mistake, they are bad for you, body and soul. They are dry, they have way too much frosting to cake ratio going on, and they are probably more full of preservatives than your dead great grandfather. Dig each one up in 50 years, and see which one looks better.
I’m not even going to bother reviewing them any more than that. If you are buying a package of cupcakes at the grocery store and you don’t have small children in the house that you want to bribe, you know exactly what you’re doing. And so what? You’re an adult. If this is what you need to bring a little bit of happiness into your life, do it. And as you eat your horrible excuse for a cupcake, you can rest easy knowing that you are accelerating the death process a little more with each bite. Comfort food is comfort food, regardless of what type of comfort it brings you.
When you are sad, or had a rough day, you buy yourself some cupcakes to eat at home, alone, in a personal pity party. You don’t want the shame of eating half a cake, only to have it sit there for a couple of more days to elevate your shame until you devour the rest angrily or throw it in the trash. You fool yourself into thinking that you’re just eating a couple of small cupcakes, that’s not so bad, is it?
You are lying to yourself. You can go to a fancy bakery, you can get artisanal cupcakes made by some ancient woman from the old country, or a hipster with hoops in his ears if it makes you feel better. You are still purchasing a lie. You are just buying the half a cake in a less judgemental portion size, like when you only get 20 or 40 dollars worth of drugs to prove you aren’t addicted, but you buy 20 or 40 dollars worth seven times a night. You can bake them yourself, and tell yourself that you enjoy baking, and maybe you’ll bring some to work for others. You are an enabler, and you just want to see other people eating your sugar bombs of misery so you can feel better about the 6 you ate last night. And the other 10 you put aside to eat tonight when you get home. It is all so sad and pathetic, and you are weak.
Then there are those of us that can’t be bothered selling ourselves the lie anymore. We know the score. We know how dark our souls have become, and the absurdity and futility of life. We just go to the grocery store and buy a plastic box full of mass produced chemical treats. The thing is, like everything in life, cupcakes are a tradeoff. Sure, you aren’t dealing with the guilt of a whole cake, but you give up certain things for that. Cupcakes are never quite as moist and delicious as a piece of really good cake. You don’t have to get all messy peeling paper off of a cake. You eat cake off a plate, with a fork, usually at a table. You eat cupcakes on the couch or over a sink, getting crumbs everywhere. Sometimes you will find a little bit of icing on a part of your body hours later, not even sure how it got there.
The store bought cupcakes are the biggest betrayal of all; to baked goods, to joy, to your inner child. And these are the mini cupcakes, for the ultimate delusion. They’re so tiny! They can’t be bad for you! But make no mistake, they are bad for you, body and soul. They are dry, they have way too much frosting to cake ratio going on, and they are probably more full of preservatives than your dead great grandfather. Dig each one up in 50 years, and see which one looks better.
I’m not even going to bother reviewing them any more than that. If you are buying a package of cupcakes at the grocery store and you don’t have small children in the house that you want to bribe, you know exactly what you’re doing. And so what? You’re an adult. If this is what you need to bring a little bit of happiness into your life, do it. And as you eat your horrible excuse for a cupcake, you can rest easy knowing that you are accelerating the death process a little more with each bite. Comfort food is comfort food, regardless of what type of comfort it brings you.
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