She's sweeter than me. She's smaller than me. She's always got a smile on her face. Her eyebrows are perfect. Heck, part of me is afraid to leave Ty alone in the house with this little lady!
Let me introduce you all to Cupcake Stephanie. The ladies at my office hosted a bridal shower for me yesterday evening. We had cupcakes for dessert, and the topper on the cupcake stand was a small, cupcake version of me.
This isn't exactly how I'm planning to wear my hair on the wedding day, but it does remind me of my hair for the first 18 years of my life. OK, busted. The first 22 years of my life. And the dress is eerily similar to my actual dress, although mine is not made from frosting and isn't dome shaped.
They told me I had to eat her at the shower, but I felt all wrong about it. Isn't that sort of like a hamster eating its own baby?
Instead, I think I'll save her in the freezer forever and pass her down to my children one day. That seems reasonable, right? After all, I think my grandmother still has a piece of cake in her freezer from my sixth birthday. My desire to freeze Cupcake Stephanie is purely a genetic trait.
I just don't know what to do with myself. Or my cupcake self.
I'm a former journalist turned marketer of concrete. I still type a lot. Other than that, I'm married to an oilman, the owner of a mini-schnauzer named Baxter and a lab named Lacy, chef to anyone with an appetite and a connoisseur of $10 wines.