Just Desserts

I was asked by my husband to make a Boston Cream Pie. He claimed it was his favorite dessert, and in 22 years, I'd never made it for him. I didn't know it was his favorite, and it was true; I'd never made one for him, because I'd never made one. I wasn't even sure what it was.

So, I looked it up online, and went to the grocery store and scrutinized the one they had for sale in the dessert case. I bought ingredients for a Boston Cream Pie, as far as I could tell: yellow cake mix, vanilla pudding, and chocolate frosting. Yes, that's right. Boston Cream Pie is not even a pie; turns out it's a cake!

At home, I started on dinner, and once that was ready to serve, I started on the Boston Cream Pie. The cake would need to bake for 35 minutes, so I was willing to allow my own dinner to grow cold in my efforts to get the cake in the oven.

I was greasing and flouring the pan when my husband asked me if there was any ice cream left.

I chuckled at the joke.

"Not to eat, I hope?"

"I could eat some, sure."

Oh, my god, he was serious.

"Not to eat, I hope?!" I held up the pan I was flouring.

"I could have a little."

"I'm making you a (censored) Boston (censored) Cream (censored) Pie, and you are asking for ice cream?!"

"What? I could have a little, while I'm waiting."

I pushed my hair out of my eyes, leaving a dusting of flour across my forehead. I looked over at my plate of cold mushroom garlic pasta, certainly by now congealed into one big lump.

"Why wouldn't you just wait? I'm making you your favorite dessert, the dessert of a lifetime, why would you eat ice cream instead of waiting for this?"

"I thought you were doing it to be nice. If this is how you are when you do nice things for me, don't do anything else!"

(I finished the Boston Cream Pie, snapped it into a cake storage container, and set it out on the back deck to cool. Then I went to bed. He didn't even eat any that night. And he never did understand why I was so angry.)

After making the Boston Cream Pie, there was some vanilla pudding and most of the container of frosting left over. I'd put both in the fridge, to make into something else later on...

Each night, my husband croons to me to come to bed with him, instead of staying up all night in the kitchen, on the computer. You guys know I'm guarding the food.

I tell him this each night. And each night he begs me to come to bed. On the last night I gave in, I woke to a very sticky floor and pink spots covering the fridge, cabinets, wall, sliding glass door, and kitchen window. The beige kitchen towel hanging on the oven door was barbie aisle pink.

"Strawberry soda incident."

Harrison shrugged and said to ask Paige.

Paige remained silent on the details.

Wednesday I took three of the kids to the dentist. One of the kids had yet another cavity. The third cavity for this child! I told the child to brush and floss more, and to cut back on eating late-night crap. Cavity Kid's eyes widened in shock that I was on to their secret.

We went to visit my in-laws today. We enjoyed a lovely dinner, followed by chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. After a cup of coffee and chatting a bit more, we packed up and headed home. It was quite late, and had been a long day, so I sent all the kids to bed.

I was taking my clean sheets from the dryer and wondering if I needed to guard the food tonight, with all the kids in their beds. Everyone had seemed tired, so I hoped they'd stay in their beds.

I rounded the corner to see Cavity Kid standing at the kitchen counter eating chocolate frosting directly from the container with a large serving spoon.

"You just had a huge slice of chocolate cake at Grandma's! I'm paying for cavities, and you're still going to bed with teeth covered in frosting!! What the hell?! Out. Out! OUT!!"

Cavity Kid dropped the spoon on the island and ran from the kitchen directly to bed, without even having the courtesy to brush first.