Guest view: Cake EatersDisclaimer: This column has nothing to do with high school, the French Revolution or socio-economic status of certain Northland communities.
Sometimes the girl really does mean “yes” when she says “no.” Like when she walks in on you watching UFC, eating a piece of chocolate cake in your sweat pants after she’s been in the basement running on the treadmill for an hour – her face glistening, hair back in one of those stretchy headband things, holding a large glass of ice-water, her breathing still laboring from the workout, no one else home.
“How was your run?”
“What’re you doing?”
“Yeah, what’re you having?”
“Watching Lesnar. This cake is awesome. You want a bite?”
And there you have it. That’s a damn lie.
“Yes. I just got done running three miles.”
“I know, perfect! You’ve earned it. You want a bite?”
“No, I don’t want any cake.”
“OK...You want to watch Lesnar play King-Kong on some guy's face?”
Not a lie.
“OK, sorry. You want to watch something else?”
“I can’t believe you’re eating that cake.”
“Why are you eating cake right now?”
“What do you mean?
“I mean, it’s 9 o’clock at night and I’m downstairs trying to be good and you’re up here eating chocolate cake.”
“You don’t want me to eat it?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Well, what did you say, again?”
“I just asked why you are eating that cake.”
“Oh…well…I’m eating it because it’s awesomely delicious and you made it for my birthday and I haven’t had any yet and I’ve been working out like an Olympian lately and I feel like I can handle it – weight-wise – and when I walked by it in the kitchen, I could smell the frosting and it smelled like heaven – and I even considered just smelling it and walking by – but then I realized I absolutely HATE people like that, who are so careful about losing their fitness, their shape, their waistline, their physique, their life, that they never actually live it, so I grabbed a knife, cut myself a catcher’s-mitt-sized piece and here I am, watching gratuitous violence, eating cake and arguing with my wife like the perfect trailer-trash zombie that I guess I really am…”
“…are you done?”
“Just gotta get me a Budweiser, a mullet and a Get-R-Done/Cowgirl Up sticker on my pickup and I’m ready…maybe get a Randy Travis 8-track.”
“You always go too far.”
“You know you do.”
“I was just sitting here watching TV, eating cake, minding my own business.”
“But then you always have to go too far.”
Not a lie.
“You want a bite of this cake?”
“Give it to me.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”