I just bought a cupcake for my wife from a "cupcakery" in Georgetown. The girl working the cash register helped me pick out the perfect cupcake which, now that I look back, was the safest choice for my wife's tastes: a dark chocolate cake covered with a layer of vanilla frosting. If you ever need to understand the intricacies of what makes a good cupcake, call my wife. She will rattle off a list of variables such as texture, density,moistness, and, my favorite, proportion of cake to frosting. She sees an artistic creation where I see a ball of baked goo.
I walked the quarter-mile back to our apartment and tried my best to minimize the embarrassment of holding a cute brown paper bag with "Sprinkles" scrawled across it. My mind plucked a memory I had already filed in a cabinet marked "Do not open until your children get married." I remember locking that cabinet, but my mind insisted on running the combination.
The memory was of two nights ago, when my wife and I got all dressed up for a night out. I put on a nice pair of jeans which, in the middle of a DC heatwave, says something special with regards to the occasion. I even ironed my long-sleeved black shirt that accentuates my chest (once, on a date my freshman year of college, this girl looked at me, frowned, and said, "Has anyone ever told you that you have an abnormally wide chest?" She may not have liked the size of my chest, but Kristi doesn't seem to mind). My body looks like half of an hourglass with a tire stuck in the middle.The black shirt accentuated the hourglass because it was small in the shoulders. And it diminished the tire because it was black. My wife looked ravishing in a black-and-white striped skirt and black leggings. She is the full hourglass without the tire.
What was the occasion? I was taking my wife out to dinner. If there's an occasion more special than that, I don't know what it is. We walked in scorching heat to a ritzy Italian restaurant and I tried my best not to sweat. We got to the restaurant, put our name on the hour-long waiting list, and looked at the menu. I was born with two distinct chromosomes, so naturally I skimmed the prices. And my heart dropped to the extra button on my black shirt when I realized that we couldn't afford any of them.
So I did what husbands do: I made up excuses to cover up the real reason why we couldn't eat there. I said trivial things like "I don't want to wait an hour" and "It's too hot in here" to hide the fact that I, a husband, could not provide a luxury that my wife desired and deserved.
That night I couldn't sleep. I wondered, "What can I give my wife?" Yes, it's a superficial question. But husbands know the feeling. You have somebody you want to give the world too, but you have to settle for packages of Starburst gummies, or extra-butter microwave popcorn, or a box of cereal, or a short-stemmed rose.
Just as feelings of inadequacy crept over me, I had an idea. I realized I could give her the world on a silver platter, and made a plan to do so. I slept soundly with that hope.
After the sun rose, while she showered, I combined pancake mix, milk, and ricotta cheese in a big bowl. I sliced butter onto a sizzling pan and poured the batter on top. The pancakes started to bubble, so I turned them. The butter had melted onto the pancakes in shapes vaguely similar to continents on a globe. When she came out, I flipped the little worlds onto a plate. It wasn't a silver platter, but it worked just fine.
My wife has these little creases in between her eyes and cheeks that I call her "smile lines." The cause is a smile so big it creates a wedge between her cheek and her lower eyelid, forcing her eyes to squint. Over time, the wedge became a permanent diagonal line. They are a natural tattoo for a naturally happy person. Her smile beamed so bright I wondered if she could even see me, let alone the circles on her plate. I like to think I contributed to those little creases that morning.
I locked that memory back into my file cabinet for a time when my son wants to give his wife the world, but can't. The cupcake rocking in the little paper sack cost me three dollars. I hope one day I can surprise her with a mixture of diamonds and gold instead of a mixture of flour and water, but a cupcake will do just fine for now.
I took the cupcake home and placed it on the table. Should I tease the surprise until later in the evening? Naw, I'll just give it to her as an appetizer for dinner.
We're having pancakes tonight.
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