I casually dropped the hint to Ashley that I would love to bake something for the party, especially since I'm so freaking good at it. I'm almost as good at baking as I am at eating baked goods, just to give you an idea. Ashley was totally honored that I would grace her with the fruits of my baking prowess, and so I tell her it's no problem but to get me something wicked for Christmas (if I didn't say that, it's what I meant, FYI).
The party is next weekend, and Avery is only in daycare two days a week now, so I decided I would be extremely efficient and bake some cupcakes tonight while missy is snug as a bug. Then I could freeze those suckers, defrost them the night before, and ice them the morning of the party. The party is a rainbow theme, I should mention. And so it began...
I started by whipping up the richest cupcake batter I could think of. Tons of melted butter, whole milk, and four deliciously fresh eggs. My saddlebags were quivering at the sight of it. I added some lemon flavor and a little extra vanilla, just to make them even more delish. Then the wheels started turning. What if I got all Pinterest on that shit and made the batter itself rainbow, instead of just using rainbow sprinkles on the icing?
The side of me that fancies herself a Cupcake War champion and is a total closeted fat girl was all like, "Ohhhhh yeahhhh, we got this in the bag! Get the food coloring out! Where's the rest of the team?"
The very teeny tiny side of me that is representative of the harsh realities of life was probably going to say something, but couldn't because she was choking on the lemon loaf, lemon squares, and double chocolate chip cookies that have been thrown on top of her in the past 3 weeks. Who wants to listen to that bitch anyway?
Before I knew it I had six bowls out with equally portioned cake batter and blue food coloring spilled all over my counter top. Then came the hard part: Getting the batter into the cupcake cups so that they formed a rainbow.
Challenge accepted.
I stood there, hunched over that cupcake tin for fifty minutes. Fifty. Effing. Minutes. Half way through I decided I wanted some alcohol, and that Baileys and milk wouldn't make me feel like I had a drinking problem. I hauled the 26er of booze laced Irish cream out of my substantial liquor cabinet only to notice that apparently last Christmas when I was casually sipping it I managed to put it away without the top on it. That had to promptly go down the sink. All that was left were several different flavors and colors of rum, some vodka, and some Pinot. I chose the latter.
So, in total, it took fifty minutes, a large glass of wine, at least four imaginary cigarettes, and over a dozen swear words and religious slurs to get those cupcakes to look remotely like a rainbow. Then I fired them in the oven and immediately went into the downward dog to attempt to realign my hips and spine.
Twenty minutes later I slapped on my oven mitts and retrieved my cupcakes from the oven.
It looked like a Gay Pride parade vomited into my muffin tin. I cut one of them open to see the damage, and the inside somewhat resembled an artist's rendition of an acid trip at Woodstock. Not at all what the pinner in me had envisioned. If you look really hard, it also sort of resembles a vagina. The pink part I mean.
I know, I'm juvenile.
Anyway, the bottom line is that they taste good, but I'm pretty sure I'll be casually and very stealthily setting them down at the party, and then loudly asking, "Who made those ugly cupcakes? They look like shit!"
You know, so no one knows it was me.
Happy Birthday, baby Caroline. You're Auntie Lauren thinks you're awesome... as evidenced by these very difficult to make, but shitty looking cupcakes. Lots of love.
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