Birthday bash
Disclaimer: this post is in NO WAY, SHAPE, OR FORM meant to offend anyone. I love everybody, and this story just cracked me up. Hopefully no one will take offense.
I'm a germ magnet. If there is a bacterium, virus, protozoa, or fungus that could potentially make me ill within a 10 mile radius of my location, there is no doubt that I will contract some sort of infliction. Whether it’s the projectile vomiting that usurped my visit to see Reba McIntyre at the rodeo last month, or the Great Dane-style cough I developed with the bronchitis cultivated during my trip to Seattle a few weeks ago, I often find myself feeling under the weather. Even my girlfriend claims that I am “the sickest person” she’s ever met. Whether its chalked up to that evil random virus that nearly killed me when I was 19 and consequently instigated the crapiness of my immune system, or the fact that I work in a tightly enclosed space with many grubby children who also tend to carry disease, I have simply learned to accept the fact that I get sick more often that the average person.
However, my immune system, or lack thereof, is not the purpose of this entry. My purpose is to tell you about a birthday party, and a delicious cake.
An old friend of mine and his wife recently held a birthday party for their adorable 2-year-old. The theme was Jojo's Circus, and all of the adornments were coordinated with the Jojo theme: the cups, napkins, tablecloth, balloons, even the expensive bakery cake, which was hand-frosted with the circus theme, not airbrushed like many you see these days. At the party, my girlfriend and I stood around awkwardly for a while, as having not brought an ankle-biter to the festivities made us feel somewhat out of place. Munchies were consumed, gifts were opened, and finally, the cake was ready to be cut.
Both of the child's grandmothers were present for the fete, and appeared to be in charge of the cake cutting. Grandma #1 asked Grandma #2 if she would like a spatula for the serving. Grandma #2 replied no, the knife was wide enough to serve the purpose. (Sidebar: at last year's party, the memorable First Birthday party, Grandma #2 had gotten impatient waiting for the child of honor to dig in to the cake. The child had spent considerable time dragging finger after finger through the frosting, tasting a bite here and there. Grandma #2 wasn't having it. She grabbed the child's hands and pretty much shoved them into the cake in order to make the appropriate mess that a child at his or her own first birthday party should make. It was an awkward moment, but humorous nonetheless....)
Anyhow, Grandma #2 proceeds to slice the first few pieces of cake, and despite her earlier claims that she did not need a spatula, ended up using her fingers to support each slice before it made it to the plate. At one point, no plate was available, so instead of putting the cake back down on the tray, she held the slice in her hand while setting down the knife with the other hand and using that hand to secure another plate. I was a little disgusted at first, but I just assumed that obviously, she would have washed her hands first. Then, after about 4 slices, Grandma #2's fingers were getting a little sticky and full of icing. So she did what any one else with icing filled fingers would do. She licked them clean. And THEN, she proceeded to keep slicing and serving cake with her saliva coated fingers. Every 4 or 5 slices, she would lick her fingers clean, and would continue to do so until nearly every slice had been distributed.
My girlfriend and I watched in horror as we shared a a mutual shock.
When it was our turn, Grandma #2 presented us with our choices,"White or chocolate?" My gut instinct was to say, "Which ever one has less of your spit on it..."
But I didn't. Instead, I graciously took a piece, scarfed it down, and soon cut myself another slice(no spit on that one...) The cake was delicious.
That was three days ago, and I haven't gotten sick yet. Here's to hoping that all those illness-carrying microbes drowned in the sugary sea of frosting.
I'm a germ magnet. If there is a bacterium, virus, protozoa, or fungus that could potentially make me ill within a 10 mile radius of my location, there is no doubt that I will contract some sort of infliction. Whether it’s the projectile vomiting that usurped my visit to see Reba McIntyre at the rodeo last month, or the Great Dane-style cough I developed with the bronchitis cultivated during my trip to Seattle a few weeks ago, I often find myself feeling under the weather. Even my girlfriend claims that I am “the sickest person” she’s ever met. Whether its chalked up to that evil random virus that nearly killed me when I was 19 and consequently instigated the crapiness of my immune system, or the fact that I work in a tightly enclosed space with many grubby children who also tend to carry disease, I have simply learned to accept the fact that I get sick more often that the average person.
However, my immune system, or lack thereof, is not the purpose of this entry. My purpose is to tell you about a birthday party, and a delicious cake.
An old friend of mine and his wife recently held a birthday party for their adorable 2-year-old. The theme was Jojo's Circus, and all of the adornments were coordinated with the Jojo theme: the cups, napkins, tablecloth, balloons, even the expensive bakery cake, which was hand-frosted with the circus theme, not airbrushed like many you see these days. At the party, my girlfriend and I stood around awkwardly for a while, as having not brought an ankle-biter to the festivities made us feel somewhat out of place. Munchies were consumed, gifts were opened, and finally, the cake was ready to be cut.
Both of the child's grandmothers were present for the fete, and appeared to be in charge of the cake cutting. Grandma #1 asked Grandma #2 if she would like a spatula for the serving. Grandma #2 replied no, the knife was wide enough to serve the purpose. (Sidebar: at last year's party, the memorable First Birthday party, Grandma #2 had gotten impatient waiting for the child of honor to dig in to the cake. The child had spent considerable time dragging finger after finger through the frosting, tasting a bite here and there. Grandma #2 wasn't having it. She grabbed the child's hands and pretty much shoved them into the cake in order to make the appropriate mess that a child at his or her own first birthday party should make. It was an awkward moment, but humorous nonetheless....)
Anyhow, Grandma #2 proceeds to slice the first few pieces of cake, and despite her earlier claims that she did not need a spatula, ended up using her fingers to support each slice before it made it to the plate. At one point, no plate was available, so instead of putting the cake back down on the tray, she held the slice in her hand while setting down the knife with the other hand and using that hand to secure another plate. I was a little disgusted at first, but I just assumed that obviously, she would have washed her hands first. Then, after about 4 slices, Grandma #2's fingers were getting a little sticky and full of icing. So she did what any one else with icing filled fingers would do. She licked them clean. And THEN, she proceeded to keep slicing and serving cake with her saliva coated fingers. Every 4 or 5 slices, she would lick her fingers clean, and would continue to do so until nearly every slice had been distributed.
My girlfriend and I watched in horror as we shared a a mutual shock.
When it was our turn, Grandma #2 presented us with our choices,"White or chocolate?" My gut instinct was to say, "Which ever one has less of your spit on it..."
But I didn't. Instead, I graciously took a piece, scarfed it down, and soon cut myself another slice(no spit on that one...) The cake was delicious.
That was three days ago, and I haven't gotten sick yet. Here's to hoping that all those illness-carrying microbes drowned in the sugary sea of frosting.
posted by Flipside at 3:11 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home