Let Them Eat Cake

One fantastic thing about Troy's parents is their love of deserts, so when they come to visit, it is basically a given that we will be partaking of a sweet treat sometime during the day. Now, I am generally a salt-loving person, but I think it would be rude to be so unaccommodating as to deny my in-laws of their sweets, so out of the goodness of my heart, I eat desert too. I am such a gracious host. Last night we enjoyed a choice of red velvet cake or carrot cake. (I had a small slice of each! But I couldn't finish them . . . )

This morning, before church, my mother-in-law told us that she had a coffee cake in the fridge we could have before we left. I cut a slice for myself and as I let the sugary goodness dissolve in my mouth, I was wondering why this baked good was acceptable for breakfast while the red velvet and carrot cake was reserved for an after meal end cap. Both are cakes. Both are made with flour, sugar, butter and eggs. Both will take up occupancy on my hips creating a saddle-bag effect. Then I realized the difference. The frosting.

That's right, frosting. Add frosting to a cake, and it can be classified a dessert. Strip the powdered sugar and egg whites and you have yourself breakfast. The frosting is the one who gets all the credit but is really just a lot of excess calories. Frosting is like the debutant reality star that doesn't really do anything but is famous anyway. Frosting is the Paris Hilton of delicatessens.

However, I feel like I need to address the rebel in this scenario. The coffee cake with icing. You've seen them. They often have the two racing stripes of some sort of fruit jelly running lengthwise and then on the cake part are small piped curly-cues of frosting that are delicate enough to be appropriate for breakfast but provocative enough to laugh in the face at the rules of breakfast. What is with that? It clearly says coffee cake on those stickers that I am convinced are made with the same glue as duct tape. The stickiness of those suckers is remarkable! Coffee cake should be eaten with, well, coffee, which is consumed primarily in the morning. It is a sneaky tactic, but so far the dessert police do not have enough evidence to arrest the frosted coffee cake for obstruction of a breakfast food.

I guess the lesson learned here, kids, is that dessert, regardless of the time of day, has but one purpose: to satisfy that sweet tooth . . . and then rot it out. But who cares? In the words of Marie Antoinette, "Qu'ils mangent de la brioche." Let them eat cake.

Intense Super Fan

This weekend was Bethel University's homecoming. (Whoot, whoot! Go Royals!!) Being that Troy and I both went to Bethel and live close to campus, we have gone to the homecoming game every year we have been married and even a few when we were dating. I love the school spirit and the traditions of coming back for homecoming, and Troy likes the football. It's a win-win.

Homecoming is always a crazy game. You have to get to campus early to get a parking space, and then fight the crowds for a spot in the bleachers. This year was the first year we sat on the "parents' side." At Royal Stadium, on the home bleachers side, if you are facing the field, the students sit on the left. The parents and alumni sit on the right side. This year we didn't sit with the current students. I think we are too old . . . (sigh)

So, we joined the other old people on the left side of the bleachers and we were sitting behind two men who were constantly talking during the game. I learned that the one particularly vocal man went to Bethel when he was in college and also played on the football team. He loved to remissness about the "good ole days" when he was 187 pounds and couldn't keep any weight on him. Or about the game where he was up against a big guy who wasn't in shape and so he just kept tackling the overweight football player in his gut until he wore him out. His stories were interesting as they were humbly-pompous. He would talk about how awesome he was and then make a comment that brought him down to the status of a mere man.

He also loved to talk to the football players on the field as though they could hear him. A few choice phrases he used were: "Come on, beef," "You have to want it," and my personal favorite, "Come on Bethel, you gotta throw the kitchen sink at 'em." (I actually typed these into my Droid as he said them so I wouldn't forget.) Being that I was sitting in front of him and I couldn't very well turn around for a viewing in a conspicuous matter, I made a visual of what he might look like. I figured he was a typical football alum dad who was wearing a Brooks Brothers oxford under his Bethel windbreaker drinking a Caribou coffee. But when the game was over and I turned around to see him, I saw a man who resembled Milton from Office Space. He was wearing worn out black sneakers, light washed jeans and a cheap, felt version of an Indiana Jones hat, complete with a draw string for those windy days. He didn't fit the humbly-pompous man that I thought was sitting behind me.

While I reveled in his "new" look, I thought about how this man or someone like him is present at every sporting event ever organized. Even back in 80 AD, some Roman would be shouting in the Colosseum on the best ways to kill the lion, gladiator, what-have-you and talking about the time he slayed a barbarian when he was in college. Why is it that people feel the need to fluff up their peacock feathers and talk about what they did back in the day as it pertains to the sport? Why do these people have to shout out advice to the players and coaching staff? I personally think they are hoping the head coach will overhear them and beg for them to be on their coaching staff. Afterall, their knowledge is clearly superior.