Chuckle #446 | March 30th, 2011
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As spring draws tantalizingly near, families are gearing up for their favorite fertility rites and rituals. For many of us, one of those annual rituals will probably include a classic “Egg Hunt”. But before mom and dad can fill the yard with chocolate eggs and bunnies, they must first hunt for something else: petrified poop.
“Spring Cleaning” takes on a whole new meaning for dog owners.
I admit that I often neglect my winter “doody” duties. Who doesn’t? Especially this past winter when two feet of snow made it difficult to convince even the dog to “go” outdoors, forget about picking up after him. As a result, my current excrement status is somewhat less than hygienic. (That’s the polite version.)
In a better economy I might have been willing to pass this job off on the professionals. Instead, I bought a cheap hazmat suit, a construction grade garbage bag (intended for demolition debris) and spent half a day in the yard removing dog doo. And that’s only because my husband put his foot down.
And that foot happened to land in something squishy.
Once I de-dooed the lawn however, I was free to contemplate more enjoyable spring pastimes. As a child I’ve always enjoyed hunting for Easter eggs. But even as a 6 year old, with my brain churning with confusion over the slim connection between jelly beans and Jesus, I was smart enough not to question my good fortune.
“Why do you ply me with truly unhealthy amounts of candy on Easter?” is not a question an intelligent young Christian child asks her parents if she hopes to receive her full quota of Cadbury eggs. In this case I was more than willing to let my parents off the hook.
One does not “grill” the goose that lays the chocolate egg.
Egg hunts may be, as some claim, an insidious Vatican youth marketing strategy, but you can’t deny that they are a lot of fun. The thrill of the childhood egg hunt is unforgettable. I think this explains why, at some level of consciousness, I also enjoy hunting for poops.
Have you ever tried to find 300 partially decomposed poops? It’s a challenge. By comparison, festively colored plastic eggs are relatively easy to spot. Unless your dog has recently eaten a Beanie Baby, poops are not.
Don’t pooh-pooh my archeological fascination with fossilized canine BMs. Thousands of years from now, if and when my yard becomes a famous dig site (like Pompeii but hopefully without the death and devastation), scientists will be able to tell a lot about my family’s life from our collection of petrified dung. Like the fact that my family most likely owned a dog. And that we did not regularly clean-up after said dog. And that this particular dog had an unfortunate penchant for buttons and Barbie feet.
Not exactly the Dead Sea Scrolls, but interesting nonetheless. Of course I also think that owl pellet dissection is cool. And worm composting. Did you know that an earthworm can produce its own weight in castings every day?
Now imagine if your dog did that.
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Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, all rights reserved
Trying on Bathtubs
Chuckle #445 | March 23rd, 2011
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No dressing rooms. No soft lighting. No cool music. No privacy. Who could possibly enjoy trying out bathtubs in a public showroom? Exhibitionists and voyeurs that’s who. Me? Not so much.
But when you are desperately seeking the perfect five foot long double ended pedestal tub, you learn to faux bathe with panache. Lately I’ve been leaping into tubs whenever the opportunity arises. And I’m not at all shy about asking mere acquaintances if I can lie down in their tubs. Clothed of course, I’m not entirely without couth.
You just never know where you’ll be when you find “the one”. So boldly beg because owning the perfect tub is worth every second of red faced shame and embarrassment. The tub is no design afterthought for a serious bather. The right tub can make a bad day good and a good day better, like chocolate.
The biggest problem with trying on bathtubs is that empty tubs aren’t all that comfortable. My imagination is as good as the next person’s but without the anti-gravitational effects of H2O, pretty much every tub feels like a slab of granite. (Even with a well-padded backside.) A little showroom ambiance wouldn’t hurt either.
Would it kill the salesperson to light a few candles or burn some incense?
And FYI, “faux bathing” has rules, which I’ve conveniently listed below because public awareness of these rules seems to range from limited to nil.
1) Wait your turn.
2) Remove your shoes.
3) Don’t overstay.
4) No double dipping. Singles only.
5) Do not stare at other “bathers”. This whole thing is already awkward enough.
6) Remain fully clothed. Must I define fully?
The general rule of tub shopping is that if you fall asleep in the tub it’s “the one”. Just buy it already and put your husband out of his misery. Guys only enjoy shopping for TVs, stereos, steak, and cars. Guys do NOT like shopping for bathtubs.
And speaking of significant others, heed this warning. Double tubs are like double kayaks, they can be tough on a marriage. You and your husband may think you want one of those monsterous two person tubs now, but later in your marriage, a quiet private soak is what will keep your relationship humming along.
Bath time is for escaping from your family. Why on earth would you bring them with you? If you really want to bathe with your husband, get a hot tub.
Besides, two people “trying on a tub” at the same time is just plain kinky. Others would stare. I have stared. How could I help myself? It’s not often you get to see another couple “pretending” to take a bath together.
So now I’m a creepy voyeur. And all I really wanted was a decent bath.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Copyright 2008-2010, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, all rights reserved
scroll down to leave a comment
No dressing rooms. No soft lighting. No cool music. No privacy. Who could possibly enjoy trying out bathtubs in a public showroom? Exhibitionists and voyeurs that’s who. Me? Not so much.
But when you are desperately seeking the perfect five foot long double ended pedestal tub, you learn to faux bathe with panache. Lately I’ve been leaping into tubs whenever the opportunity arises. And I’m not at all shy about asking mere acquaintances if I can lie down in their tubs. Clothed of course, I’m not entirely without couth.
You just never know where you’ll be when you find “the one”. So boldly beg because owning the perfect tub is worth every second of red faced shame and embarrassment. The tub is no design afterthought for a serious bather. The right tub can make a bad day good and a good day better, like chocolate.
The biggest problem with trying on bathtubs is that empty tubs aren’t all that comfortable. My imagination is as good as the next person’s but without the anti-gravitational effects of H2O, pretty much every tub feels like a slab of granite. (Even with a well-padded backside.) A little showroom ambiance wouldn’t hurt either.
Would it kill the salesperson to light a few candles or burn some incense?
And FYI, “faux bathing” has rules, which I’ve conveniently listed below because public awareness of these rules seems to range from limited to nil.
1) Wait your turn.
2) Remove your shoes.
3) Don’t overstay.
4) No double dipping. Singles only.
5) Do not stare at other “bathers”. This whole thing is already awkward enough.
6) Remain fully clothed. Must I define fully?
The general rule of tub shopping is that if you fall asleep in the tub it’s “the one”. Just buy it already and put your husband out of his misery. Guys only enjoy shopping for TVs, stereos, steak, and cars. Guys do NOT like shopping for bathtubs.
And speaking of significant others, heed this warning. Double tubs are like double kayaks, they can be tough on a marriage. You and your husband may think you want one of those monsterous two person tubs now, but later in your marriage, a quiet private soak is what will keep your relationship humming along.
Bath time is for escaping from your family. Why on earth would you bring them with you? If you really want to bathe with your husband, get a hot tub.
Besides, two people “trying on a tub” at the same time is just plain kinky. Others would stare. I have stared. How could I help myself? It’s not often you get to see another couple “pretending” to take a bath together.
So now I’m a creepy voyeur. And all I really wanted was a decent bath.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2010, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, all rights reserved
To Yoga or not To Yoga
Chuckle #444 | March 16th, 2011
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There are a lot of uptight people in this world who should be doing yoga. Think about Hamlet. If Hamlet had been a yogi, murder and betrayal might not have bothered him quite so much. Imagine if the most famous monologue of all time had ended with a marriage instead of mass murder.
Given what went down in Hamlet, I decided it was time to yoga.
I went to my first “Basic” class on Sunday. The practice of yoga requires a lot of concentration if one is to eventually attain a state of “perfect spiritual insight and tranquility”. At least, that’s what the brochure said.
Yoga is a lot harder than it looks. It didn’t take more than one ‘downward dog’ for me to realize that a perfectly balanced mind would be a long time in coming. During a particularly prolonged and painful warrior pose I considered easier paths to tranquility, such as mind altering (legal) drugs, or even a voluntary lobotomy.
Yes, my first yoga class was that challenging, and not just physically.
“Clear your mind,” suggested my yoga teacher. Yeah right, I thought to myself. What mother can clear her mind on command? My brain is hard wired to be thinking six carpools, three permission slips, two tournaments, four concerts and five meals ahead. My brain is not a bathtub that can be emptied and refilled at will. My mind is more like a clogged toilet.
And yes, it sometimes overflows.
But I gave yoga my best shot despite my mental shortcomings. I tried to relax and enjoy some “me” time. I tried to think of my body as a vessel, to coordinate my breathing and my body, and to empty my mind. I tried really hard not to think about who sweated on my yoga mat in the class before mine. But I couldn’t do it.
Being super grossed out has a way of ruining my Zen.
Luckily my yoga gift certificate entitles me to 9 more classes. So the entertainment I provide for the rest of my yoga-mates will continue. But no more body fluids unless they are my own. Next week I’m definitely bringing my own yoga mat
Only then will I be able to fully enjoy the physical benefits of yoga - improved flexibility, posture, strength, and balance. I know yoga is good for me because my inner thighs are still quivering like jelly.
Then there’s the spiritual side of yoga, and ‘therein lies the rub’. I may never become a full yogi before I 'shuffle off this mortal coil', but maybe that's aiming too high. At this point, just having the discipline to finish a one hour yoga class (which is a bit like watching blimps race) shows an impressive amount of focus and patience.
But the true beauty of yoga is that it accepts my many imperfections and puts a high value on effort. I doubt I will ever master the half lotus headstand, but if I can learn to sit cross-legged like a Buddha, I’m ok with that.
--------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email, visit http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, all rights reserved
scroll down to leave a comment
There are a lot of uptight people in this world who should be doing yoga. Think about Hamlet. If Hamlet had been a yogi, murder and betrayal might not have bothered him quite so much. Imagine if the most famous monologue of all time had ended with a marriage instead of mass murder.
Given what went down in Hamlet, I decided it was time to yoga.
I went to my first “Basic” class on Sunday. The practice of yoga requires a lot of concentration if one is to eventually attain a state of “perfect spiritual insight and tranquility”. At least, that’s what the brochure said.
Yoga is a lot harder than it looks. It didn’t take more than one ‘downward dog’ for me to realize that a perfectly balanced mind would be a long time in coming. During a particularly prolonged and painful warrior pose I considered easier paths to tranquility, such as mind altering (legal) drugs, or even a voluntary lobotomy.
Yes, my first yoga class was that challenging, and not just physically.
“Clear your mind,” suggested my yoga teacher. Yeah right, I thought to myself. What mother can clear her mind on command? My brain is hard wired to be thinking six carpools, three permission slips, two tournaments, four concerts and five meals ahead. My brain is not a bathtub that can be emptied and refilled at will. My mind is more like a clogged toilet.
And yes, it sometimes overflows.
But I gave yoga my best shot despite my mental shortcomings. I tried to relax and enjoy some “me” time. I tried to think of my body as a vessel, to coordinate my breathing and my body, and to empty my mind. I tried really hard not to think about who sweated on my yoga mat in the class before mine. But I couldn’t do it.
Being super grossed out has a way of ruining my Zen.
Luckily my yoga gift certificate entitles me to 9 more classes. So the entertainment I provide for the rest of my yoga-mates will continue. But no more body fluids unless they are my own. Next week I’m definitely bringing my own yoga mat
Only then will I be able to fully enjoy the physical benefits of yoga - improved flexibility, posture, strength, and balance. I know yoga is good for me because my inner thighs are still quivering like jelly.
Then there’s the spiritual side of yoga, and ‘therein lies the rub’. I may never become a full yogi before I 'shuffle off this mortal coil', but maybe that's aiming too high. At this point, just having the discipline to finish a one hour yoga class (which is a bit like watching blimps race) shows an impressive amount of focus and patience.
But the true beauty of yoga is that it accepts my many imperfections and puts a high value on effort. I doubt I will ever master the half lotus headstand, but if I can learn to sit cross-legged like a Buddha, I’m ok with that.
--------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email, visit http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT, all rights reserved
The Dog Days of Dieting
Chuckle #443 | March 9th, 2011
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My vet has declared my dog ‘overweight’ by exactly three pounds. I think she made that number up. Are there really “ideal” doggy weights? The fact that the vet did not substantiate her opinion with detailed CDC recommended height/weight charts makes me wonder if the whole thing is a hoax.
Vets know very well that every dog owner over-treats and over-feeds his dog. Who here hasn’t shared the occasional ice cream cone with “Spot”? But vets are smarter than us. To keep owner overfeeding in check, they simply declare each and every dog just a wee bit fat.
Since my dog’s “diagnosis” my daughter has taken to calling him (affectionately of course) FATTY. This does absolutely nothing for his self-esteem.
Just so you know; my dog is NOT fat. I’ve seen fat dogs. I prefer to think of my dog, like my husband, as being “just right”. What’s a love handle here and there among friends? In the case of the dog it is only excess winter fur that gives him the illusion of being chubby. Once he has his spring shave he will regain his svelte figure.
If only there was a “Spring Shave” option for me.
I did not, at first, consider three pounds to be a big deal. But then I did the math. Three pounds is 14% of his body weight. That would be like me gaining 16 pounds, which is a lot, so I can kind of see the vet’s point. If I put on that much weight I would need an entirely new wardrobe. Lucky for me, I don’t buy clothes for my dog.
So after much handwringing and internal debate, my dog is now on a diet. And I’ve never felt more TERRIBLE.
My dog never used to beg at the table and steal food off the counter when he was getting the full recommended serving of dog food every day. Now he does. But in his defense, I’m sure that he’s only become a food hound because he’s so gosh darn HUNGRY.
Let’s face facts. Being on a diet is no fun. I barely have the discipline to stay on my OWN diet, forget about keeping the dog on his. Those big puppy-dog eyes follow my every move in the kitchen. It’s killing me. You’d think that it would be relatively easy to say “Suck it up Spot, no pain no gain.” Well it’s not.
My dog hasn’t lost any weight yet, but this is neither my fault, nor his. There is a vast conspiracy of “treating” that goes on behind my back by the mailman, the laundry delivery guy, UPS, and the cleaning lady.
These people don’t care how fat my dog gets. They don’t have to face the music at the vet. All they want is a dog that is deliriously happy to see them. And while this does not reflect very well on my dog's character, delirium is easily achieved with a pocket full of milkbones.
The good news is that I have a full year to make some progress before my dog’s next check-up. The bad news is that I’m beginning to think that shorting the dog’s food might be a little too risky. Risky because the only dependable source we have for unconditional love in this life is SPOT, no matter what our kids might tell us on Mother’s Day.
So bottom line, messing with Spot may not be such a good idea.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright LOLmom.com 2008-2011, Greenwich CT, All Rights Reserved
scroll down to leave a comment
My vet has declared my dog ‘overweight’ by exactly three pounds. I think she made that number up. Are there really “ideal” doggy weights? The fact that the vet did not substantiate her opinion with detailed CDC recommended height/weight charts makes me wonder if the whole thing is a hoax.
Vets know very well that every dog owner over-treats and over-feeds his dog. Who here hasn’t shared the occasional ice cream cone with “Spot”? But vets are smarter than us. To keep owner overfeeding in check, they simply declare each and every dog just a wee bit fat.
Since my dog’s “diagnosis” my daughter has taken to calling him (affectionately of course) FATTY. This does absolutely nothing for his self-esteem.
Just so you know; my dog is NOT fat. I’ve seen fat dogs. I prefer to think of my dog, like my husband, as being “just right”. What’s a love handle here and there among friends? In the case of the dog it is only excess winter fur that gives him the illusion of being chubby. Once he has his spring shave he will regain his svelte figure.
If only there was a “Spring Shave” option for me.
I did not, at first, consider three pounds to be a big deal. But then I did the math. Three pounds is 14% of his body weight. That would be like me gaining 16 pounds, which is a lot, so I can kind of see the vet’s point. If I put on that much weight I would need an entirely new wardrobe. Lucky for me, I don’t buy clothes for my dog.
So after much handwringing and internal debate, my dog is now on a diet. And I’ve never felt more TERRIBLE.
My dog never used to beg at the table and steal food off the counter when he was getting the full recommended serving of dog food every day. Now he does. But in his defense, I’m sure that he’s only become a food hound because he’s so gosh darn HUNGRY.
Let’s face facts. Being on a diet is no fun. I barely have the discipline to stay on my OWN diet, forget about keeping the dog on his. Those big puppy-dog eyes follow my every move in the kitchen. It’s killing me. You’d think that it would be relatively easy to say “Suck it up Spot, no pain no gain.” Well it’s not.
My dog hasn’t lost any weight yet, but this is neither my fault, nor his. There is a vast conspiracy of “treating” that goes on behind my back by the mailman, the laundry delivery guy, UPS, and the cleaning lady.
These people don’t care how fat my dog gets. They don’t have to face the music at the vet. All they want is a dog that is deliriously happy to see them. And while this does not reflect very well on my dog's character, delirium is easily achieved with a pocket full of milkbones.
The good news is that I have a full year to make some progress before my dog’s next check-up. The bad news is that I’m beginning to think that shorting the dog’s food might be a little too risky. Risky because the only dependable source we have for unconditional love in this life is SPOT, no matter what our kids might tell us on Mother’s Day.
So bottom line, messing with Spot may not be such a good idea.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Copyright LOLmom.com 2008-2011, Greenwich CT, All Rights Reserved
Oscar(s) the Grouch
Chuckle #442 | March 3rd, 2011
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Let’s be frank. Actor and actress “eye candy” was the only thing that the Oscars had going for it this year. You know you are in for a painful evening when the red carpet dialogue outshines the Oscars opening monologue. Was it just me, or was Sunday’s show both interminably long and mind numbingly boring?
You would think that after 83 years the mysterious “Academy” would have accumulated enough Nielsen data to KNOW that no one over 40 stays up past 10:30 just to see what happens Oscar night. Certainly not in the age of TiVo and IO. In fact, if it weren’t for the welcome distraction of the “Oscars Drinking Game”, I might have tuned-out and turned-in even earlier.
And would it have killed them to put a can of Red Bull in the party bag just to keep the “live” audience looking, well, a little more “alive”?
This year I set an ‘early to bed’ record by bailing right after “Best Sound Mixing.” I appreciate sound, really I do. The talkies were a definite breakthrough for the movie industry. But I lack the technical skills to truly understand the significance of this highly coveted award, hence my extreme ennui at this precise moment.
Then there were our Oscar hosts. Short of sawing off James Franco’s arm on live TV, there really wasn’t much Ann Hathaway could do to improve the script. I doubt Franco would have felt a thing since he was either in a coma or was in reality, a low functioning avatar of himself. I give Ann Hathaway an “A” for effort, but even a MAJOR Givenchy wardrobe malfunction wouldn’t have been enough to distract us from the lame dialogue between her and Franco.
Then Billy Crystal gets up on stage and proves once and for all that the skillful application of COMIC timing could have saved us from Oscar boredom. Crystal got a standing ovation before he even said a word, just by LOOKING at the audience. Yes, we were all that desperate.
And what was all that host chatter about the new more “youthful” Oscars? As one of the presumably “older” skewing Oscar viewers, I found this quite insulting. Was it really necessary to keep over-annunciating the words “app” and “tweet” like we were either morons; their grandparents – or both?
There came a point in the show at which I began grasping at straws. If I had to be specific, I would say that it was right around the 6th shot of tequila. Compared to our official Oscar hosts, Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law were HILARIOUS. Kirk Douglas was both funny and sweet despite the irony of a significant speech impediment. And Russell Brand managed to keep my attention simply by looking and talking, as usual, like a lunatic. But then, he’s a real comedian.
Maybe I expected too much from an ABC show. Or maybe the Oscar(s) just bring out the grouch in me.
What the Oscars need is perfectly clear. It’s Ricky Gervais. Controversial yes, but genuinely funny with that distinctly acerbic British wit that we Americans find so refreshing, unless we are the target of it. (Oh lighten up Charlie Sheen.)
Given the pain I suffered at the hands of this year’s Oscars, I might just Hulu the 2012 show. Shocking as this news may be to the Academy, I am familiar with Hulu (and Twitter for that matter.)
For future reference, I’m not a moron nor a luddite. I’m just BORED.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Coypright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT all rights reserved
scroll down to leave a comment
Let’s be frank. Actor and actress “eye candy” was the only thing that the Oscars had going for it this year. You know you are in for a painful evening when the red carpet dialogue outshines the Oscars opening monologue. Was it just me, or was Sunday’s show both interminably long and mind numbingly boring?
You would think that after 83 years the mysterious “Academy” would have accumulated enough Nielsen data to KNOW that no one over 40 stays up past 10:30 just to see what happens Oscar night. Certainly not in the age of TiVo and IO. In fact, if it weren’t for the welcome distraction of the “Oscars Drinking Game”, I might have tuned-out and turned-in even earlier.
And would it have killed them to put a can of Red Bull in the party bag just to keep the “live” audience looking, well, a little more “alive”?
This year I set an ‘early to bed’ record by bailing right after “Best Sound Mixing.” I appreciate sound, really I do. The talkies were a definite breakthrough for the movie industry. But I lack the technical skills to truly understand the significance of this highly coveted award, hence my extreme ennui at this precise moment.
Then there were our Oscar hosts. Short of sawing off James Franco’s arm on live TV, there really wasn’t much Ann Hathaway could do to improve the script. I doubt Franco would have felt a thing since he was either in a coma or was in reality, a low functioning avatar of himself. I give Ann Hathaway an “A” for effort, but even a MAJOR Givenchy wardrobe malfunction wouldn’t have been enough to distract us from the lame dialogue between her and Franco.
Then Billy Crystal gets up on stage and proves once and for all that the skillful application of COMIC timing could have saved us from Oscar boredom. Crystal got a standing ovation before he even said a word, just by LOOKING at the audience. Yes, we were all that desperate.
And what was all that host chatter about the new more “youthful” Oscars? As one of the presumably “older” skewing Oscar viewers, I found this quite insulting. Was it really necessary to keep over-annunciating the words “app” and “tweet” like we were either morons; their grandparents – or both?
There came a point in the show at which I began grasping at straws. If I had to be specific, I would say that it was right around the 6th shot of tequila. Compared to our official Oscar hosts, Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law were HILARIOUS. Kirk Douglas was both funny and sweet despite the irony of a significant speech impediment. And Russell Brand managed to keep my attention simply by looking and talking, as usual, like a lunatic. But then, he’s a real comedian.
Maybe I expected too much from an ABC show. Or maybe the Oscar(s) just bring out the grouch in me.
What the Oscars need is perfectly clear. It’s Ricky Gervais. Controversial yes, but genuinely funny with that distinctly acerbic British wit that we Americans find so refreshing, unless we are the target of it. (Oh lighten up Charlie Sheen.)
Given the pain I suffered at the hands of this year’s Oscars, I might just Hulu the 2012 show. Shocking as this news may be to the Academy, I am familiar with Hulu (and Twitter for that matter.)
For future reference, I’m not a moron nor a luddite. I’m just BORED.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Get your Weekly Chuckle via email at http://www.laughoutloudmom.com/
Coypright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT all rights reserved
The Cupcake Economy
Chuckle #441 | February 16th, 2011
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A shop called “Crumbs” just opened in my town and the only thing it sells is ginormous, over-the-top cupcakes. You’d think it would be difficult to find funding for a business that relies entirely on the sale of $4 cupcakes. Not true. The Cupcake Bakery concept is booming. And I know this because…
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” said my husband, presenting me with a tray of four elaborately decorated cupcakes.
“Wow,” I exclaimed, thinking that I could not have picked a worse time to be on a low carb diet. “Is there any chance that one of those cupcakes is made entirely of fat and protein? You know, bacon lard frosting with an ethanol filling?”
“Nope” he replied. “But if you’re desperate to chew on something, you could eat the flowers I brought you instead.”
I did not eat the flowers, even though carnations are Atkins approved. I was more than willing to break my four week old diet and stuff three insidious forkfuls of cupcake into my mouth. (All for my husband’s sake, of course.)
Fads come and go, but I’m pretty sure that the cupcake is heir apparent to the “Crispy Crème”, at least for the decadent made-with-lard crowd.
But before we get carried away, let’s take a moment to look at the econometrics behind this foodie boom-let. We all know in our hearts that cupcakes are only successful because of recent fundamental social and economic change in America.
Cupcake mania is the product of the lagging economy AND a very American fear of commitment.
Let’s start with commitment. People these days don’t want to buy an entire cake and be stuck eating the same dessert for weeks. We don’t want to invest $20 bucks in just one indulgence when the world is full of so many possibilities. What if chocolate decadence disappoints?
This theory goes a long way towards explaining the renewed popularity of “tasting” menus and tapas restaurants; and ordering two appetizers for dinner instead of an entrée. (Or am I the only one who does that?)
But the true beauty of a cupcake bakery is that all your cake fantasies can be realized at once. What woman wouldn’t love a place where she could buy miniature versions of all her favorite cakes? Mini desserts are like having mutiple slices of utopia…without the ball and chain of the entire pie.
Have you ever had two boyfriends at once? Sweet. That’s what cupcakes are all about. (Choice that is, not two-timing some poor kid.)
Then there’s the economy, which has NOT recovered despite the recent increase in Starbucks same store sales. If Starbucks can still sell a cup of coffee for $3.50, why shouldn’t “Crumbs” be able to sell a slice of carbohydrate heaven for $4?
If you can’t afford to buy the vacation home on the beach, why not assuage the pain with a killer cupcake? Seriously, there is nothing like a recession to make a “crummy” idea seem like pure genius.
----------------------------------------------------------------
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Copyright 2008-2011, LOLmom.com, Greenwich CT
scroll down to leave a comment
A shop called “Crumbs” just opened in my town and the only thing it sells is ginormous, over-the-top cupcakes. You’d think it would be difficult to find funding for a business that relies entirely on the sale of $4 cupcakes. Not true. The Cupcake Bakery concept is booming. And I know this because…
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” said my husband, presenting me with a tray of four elaborately decorated cupcakes.
“Wow,” I exclaimed, thinking that I could not have picked a worse time to be on a low carb diet. “Is there any chance that one of those cupcakes is made entirely of fat and protein? You know, bacon lard frosting with an ethanol filling?”
“Nope” he replied. “But if you’re desperate to chew on something, you could eat the flowers I brought you instead.”
I did not eat the flowers, even though carnations are Atkins approved. I was more than willing to break my four week old diet and stuff three insidious forkfuls of cupcake into my mouth. (All for my husband’s sake, of course.)
Fads come and go, but I’m pretty sure that the cupcake is heir apparent to the “Crispy Crème”, at least for the decadent made-with-lard crowd.
But before we get carried away, let’s take a moment to look at the econometrics behind this foodie boom-let. We all know in our hearts that cupcakes are only successful because of recent fundamental social and economic change in America.
Cupcake mania is the product of the lagging economy AND a very American fear of commitment.
Let’s start with commitment. People these days don’t want to buy an entire cake and be stuck eating the same dessert for weeks. We don’t want to invest $20 bucks in just one indulgence when the world is full of so many possibilities. What if chocolate decadence disappoints?
This theory goes a long way towards explaining the renewed popularity of “tasting” menus and tapas restaurants; and ordering two appetizers for dinner instead of an entrée. (Or am I the only one who does that?)
But the true beauty of a cupcake bakery is that all your cake fantasies can be realized at once. What woman wouldn’t love a place where she could buy miniature versions of all her favorite cakes? Mini desserts are like having mutiple slices of utopia…without the ball and chain of the entire pie.
Have you ever had two boyfriends at once? Sweet. That’s what cupcakes are all about. (Choice that is, not two-timing some poor kid.)
Then there’s the economy, which has NOT recovered despite the recent increase in Starbucks same store sales. If Starbucks can still sell a cup of coffee for $3.50, why shouldn’t “Crumbs” be able to sell a slice of carbohydrate heaven for $4?
If you can’t afford to buy the vacation home on the beach, why not assuage the pain with a killer cupcake? Seriously, there is nothing like a recession to make a “crummy” idea seem like pure genius.
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