The Little Things

Yesterday, I bought myself a Snuggie. I was feeling down, and fourteen dollars seemed to be a reasonable amount for retail therapy. Paul laughed and told me never to wash it, because it would fall apart instantly. I didn't care. I was happy.

They are much bigger than they appear in the commercials. My friend Carla pointed out that I'm all set for my Pepto-Bismol Halloween costume next October.

I was also thinking Polyphonic Spree. Remember them?

***

Every Christmas, I make a digital scrapbook for my grandmother. She's in an assisted living home, and doesn't need trinkets. I hate, hate, hate scrapbooking, even though I know that it is a good thing. So, to make it less painful, I scheduled a scrapbooking get-together at my house on  Sunday. A couple people said they would come.

Tuesday night, I sent out this email: "Eff scrapbooking, let's have cocktails instead. We'll scrapbook when we're dead." Instantly, a acid-free paperweight lifted off my shoulders.

And more people are coming now. Not surprised. Not. One. Bit. 

***

We get Bon Appetit magazine because we ordered a lot of housewares off of Amazon.com last year. We never make any of the recipes, because they usually involve grinding your own corn or making your own savory blend of ketchup. Way out of our league.

I was flipping through the pages, and one of those renewal postcards fell out. The picture was of a two-layer chocolate fudge cake with white chocolate truffle filling and whipped chocolate frosting. It also featured three-dimensional chocolate stars. Chocolate Stars, people.

 Are you frackin' kidding me?

Owen was really taken with this cake. He slept with the postcard until it was a wrinkly mess, and on Monday morning, he asked me to call Paul at work.

Paul: Contracts.

Owen: Daddy! Hey!

Paul: Hi, Owen, what's up?

Owen: You need to get ingredients for star cake, please.

Paul: You want to make the star cake?

Owen: Yes! With sprinkles.

Paul: Sprinkles?

Owen: Yes, Daddy. Chocolate. Sprinkles. Don't Forget.

I asked Owen for the phone. I walked into the other room, and said, softly, "Just buy a Betty Crocker mix and some vanilla frosting."

Paul said, "No, honey, Owen said he wanted the star cake."

"OK," I replied. "It's your funeral."

Paul made the stars the first night. On day two, I made the actual cake, and Paul and Owen made the frosting. It took almost three days in total, but let me tell you two things:

1) It made Owen deliriously happy. Although he only ate about two bites, all we heard was, "Star cake! Star cake! Yummy, yummy Star Cake!"

2) Truly, it was the best cake I have ever had in my entire life. Orgasmic. Transcendent. No words can adequately describe the glories of this confection. Here's the recipe.

Take a gander...

It's true what they say: sometimes, it really is the little things that count.