Tag Archives: addictive

Cupcake

Cupcake: (n) a small cake, the size of an individual portion, baked in a cup-shaped mold.

I was well into my thirties before I started eating cupcakes.

I didn’t abstain from them totally before that time, but I was known to often pass them up, insisting that even though I am a large man, that I wasn’t a “big sweet eater.”

Every time I said that, people looked at me with a massive skepticism.

Maybe that’s one reason I never ate cupcakes. It may not be fair, but I don’t know if a fat person can sit around eating high-calorie delicacies, or if an Italian man can devour a pizza or a black man chew fried chicken and watermelon.

This may sound raciest, but actually it’s understanding the silent racism that exists in our country, which giggles to itself whenever a stereotype plays out before its eyes.

But for a season, I just didn’t like all the frosting.

Then I was invited to a wedding, and while sitting at a table watching people dance, I noticed that most of them had eaten the insides of their cake but left the frosting behind. So I asked somebody at a nearby table, “Does the frosting suck?”

He vigorously shook his head. “No. It’s just too good.”

I was lost on this concept.

So without being noticed, I reached over with my fork and ate a clump of the rejected frosting from someone’s plate. (It seemed okay to do since I was only going to do it once. Are you familiar with that rationale? Of course, you can only carry it so far. For instance, promising to commit adultery or killing someone is not forgiven because you only choose a single occasion.)

But meanwhile, back to the frosting.

It was buttercream.

I knew this because there was a note on the table, written in beautiful calligraphy, which read: “Butter pecan cake with buttercream frosting.”

It was delicious.

Just sweet enough. Not heavy. Not crusty—but as advertised, buttery and creamy.

As the celebrators continued to do their best imitation of dance, I sat there and ate all the leftover frosting from about seven plates.

I don’t know—maybe there’s an addictive force associated with frosting.

From that point on, I had absolutely no problem eating cupcakes.

I realize that such a statement might be regaled as growth and toleration—but actually, all I did was raise my calories, my blood sugar and my ever-growing need for things that are sugary-sweet.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Additive

Words from Dic(tionary)

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Additive: (n.) a substance added to something in small quantities, typically to improve or preserve it: e.g. many foods contain chemical additives.

I am an additive.

I have never been the main substance or the primary focus in my entire life.

I have come upon a political system where I neither fit in nor agree and can only disperse granules of my feelings into the concoction.

I am part of a religious system which is encumbered by its own lack of essentials, and I attempt to stir in my flavor and saltiness to produce a better brew. But is there a vanity in proclaiming that my additive will make it a better brew? I don’t know that for sure.

For instance, when making a cup of coffee, since I don’t really care for the “squeezing of the bean” in the first place, I find that I prefer the additives to the original concept. In other words, creamer and sweet ‘n low are to my taste, whereas I tolerate the coffee.

Let’s be candid. I am not alone here. Anyone who tampers with the “original black gold” is admitting that the additives are possibly more appealing than the caffeine blend.

What would we do without additives (although they certainly have a bad reputation)? Matter of fact, we like to advertise that our particular rendition of something is “pure” because it’s free of additive.

Our politics is completely Republican, with nary a nod for the teeming masses.

Our Democratic Party is one hundred per cent liberal, castrated of ANY conservative values.

We will not allow additives, so as to make sure that we are offering the purest product possible.

So you see my dilemma. I am an additive. I come along and try to sweeten, smooth, flavor, enhance and even color the broth of humanity, to make us all more palatable to each other.

Purists must hate me.

Those who like a good mug of joe probably despise my artificial sweetener.

I don’t care.

Additives in and of themselves are not evil as long as they don’t give you cancer or take away the power of the original concept but instead, make it more palatable. They are not only precious, but I will go so far as to say–necessary.

We could use some additives:

I would like a little courtesy with my human interaction.

I would like a bit of smile with my faces.

I would like a dose of humanity with my spirituality.

And I would like a little spirituality within the Politick of the Body Earth.

So being an additive, I am an advocate of such inclusion. Just make sure it won’t kill you … and it just might bless you.