OMG It's to DIE for!

I’m a 25 year old Utah woman with no husband, home, dog, child, or apron.

None of this ever feels negative until I’m thrust into the world of other women my age; women who’ve accomplished what I haven’t.; women who’ve risen to the call of Utah duty; women who have embraced their oh-so-natural and God given Domestic-ness.

I recently attended a bridal shower for one of my good friends. We hadn’t seen each other for years and she likely didn’t know I’d moved on past the one drunken summer we’d spent together but we loved each other nonetheless. She looked wonderful and it was an absolutely gorgeous shower full of gorgeous women and their gorgeous children. By gorgeous I mean perfect to the point of disgusting

I sat there in a circle of women as they talked of home décor, teething, and how to make giant decorative balls out of tissue paper. I might as well have been on mars. Occasionally they were friendly and asked me about my life and the things I did for fun and It probably would’ve been easier had they just left me to stare at the 9 different types of leafy greens in my salad because talking about the books I read wasn’t exactly thrilling conversation, sharing my latest escapade was far from appropriate, and I was fresh out of baking tips. So I took the safe route and talked of how busy I was with school and work…stimulating.

At one point we were allowed back into the kitchen for desert and I picked up the most immaculate cupcake I’d ever seen as well as a mini cupcake on a stick. The tiny little dessert on a pole was wrapped in cellophane and tied with a color coordinated bow. I suppose in some worlds it was a work of art. I sat back down, unwrapped my delicious treat, and spent 5 minutes trying to figure out how to get it off the stick and into my mouth without smearing it all over my face. Once accomplished, I leaned back and began enjoying my large human-sized cupcake. I was just finishing up the last crumb of better than sex chocolate when some girl squealed at how cute the miniature impaled baked goods were. She was literally cooing at her dessert and I looked around to see all the other women admiring this culinary handiwork. Even though everyone was holding an identical version, they still found it quite exhilarating to look at each other’s…as if one of them was bound to be different. The hosted took note of the encore request and began to describe how they were made. Mid story she looked over at me with genuine concern and asked me where mine had gone.

Confused I bluntly told her “I ate it.”

It had never occurred to me that these stupid cupcakes were meant for any fate other than being put in my mouth. Clearly I was out of place. She gave me a kind and almost pitiful look, gazing upon the chubby unmarried girl with mercy. I suppose I should’ve felt grateful but after another 15 minutes of listening to the hen’s talk of the irreplaceable value of the cookie scooper or family bloopers that involved silly husbands putting the “good” baking sheet in the dishwasher, I was ready to jam that stupid cupcake stick through my ear drum and into my dying brain.