And eat it, too.

The other day I was told, based upon the contents of my spice cupboard, that I am a real person. A person with my adult priorities in order. A person with their proverbial shit kept neatly together.

In many ways, this is true. I accumulate real ingredients for use in food preparation, because my primary hobby when I'm not scooping out large portions of grey matter to make room for intellectual know-how° is cooking. It's easier and more economical than going to the City for any reason.

So last night, when JWR and I returned to my apartment after class, the unbearable urge for something sweet overtook us. After a brief discussion of baking options, we settled on chocolate cake because JWR wanted frosting.
We started throwing things together. Then, it became clear that I didn't have enough egg to make the thing, and we both stood there in my kitchen, flour everywhere and ingredients otherwise assembled--the room deflated in the exact same way it would if a kid waited in line for a donut, only to find they were all gone. But there wasn't really any turning back, at least not substantially, because we had a bowl of flour and cocoa and sugar that could hardly be converted into some other thing. We put it in the fridge.

Then we made the frosting.
Then we ate some frosting.

We ate it just like this, because we are essentially
hyperactive children in adult bodies.

That is to say, the story still had a happy ending. And tonight there will be cake.



Notes:
° The problem inherent in this image of developing both technê and epistêmê is kind maybe that the grey matter is supposed to hold the know-how, and that by removing it I'm sort of chopping off my own feet, or however the saying (there's probably no saying) goes. But you know what? It's just a bad metaphor, and I'm too lazy to change it. So there.