My Guts are Made of Icing

If you haven't been able to tell from all my shots of butterflies, food, architecture and paper cranes, I am a distant photographer. As I mentioned before, I'm still working on getting my lens in the faces of strangers.

However, yesterday I did the unthinkable. I actually walked in to one of -shire's most fabulous French inspired bakeries and, after ordering a croissant sandwich and an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie, dropped off a mysterious package. No, not planning on blowing up the bakery, not unless they discontinue their dark pain au chocolate. I think they ought to buy and frame some of my enlarged Parisian prints for their new space, and told them as much. In politer terms, of course. A letter complete with apologies for being so forward to suggest such a thing. With photographic samples. My husband was waiting outside with the engine running so I could make a quick getaway. I felt like I had just stuffed my pockets full of macaroons and roasted almond shortbreads and tried to make a slick escape. I think I would behaving far less anxiety about this whole scheme if Canada Post had just delivered the package instead.

In any event, it got me to thinking about baked goods, in particular, cupcakes. I hate them. To be more specific, I hate the icing. It's always reminded me of the stuff they use at the dentist's office to polish your teeth, only with more sugar. Now, I do realise they have made significant advances in icing technology, so that it ain't what it used to be, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I do, however, have an innate girly attraction to cupcakes. I think they're precious. Looking.

Last year, when I was on vacation all by my lonesome, I went so stir crazy bored I started making cupcakes. Weird flavoured cupcakes. Mocha cherry. Blueberry lemon cream. Orange cranberry chocolate. Caramel pecan. I fed them to my coworkers, none of whom died. I even once set up a cupcake bar with a choose your own topping sort of deal. It was that day I discovered that many of my coworkers share my loathing for icing. I felt less alone in the world, and that perhaps hours of therapy had been avoided thanks to the revelation in the cupcakes.

My cousin had cupcakes for her wedding cake. I thought I'd share the photos with you since they were so gawsh durn purdy. I think if I think about her wedding and the cupcakes right now I can distract myself from having thrust myself on an innocent bake shop. I feel like I've given my number to a boy I like, only I stuck it in his desk at school and he hasn't found it yet-- excited and terrified all at the same time. Things behind the lens are much more comfortable! Maybe I need a cup of tea. And a cupcake.