For anyone who has known me for any amount of time, it will probably come as no shock that I have Type 2 Diabetes, or the Beetus, as I like to call it (Thanks Mr. Brimley!). Even though I am young, 41 years old last March, my diet has never been very healthy. I have always had a sweet tooth (well actually 32 sweet teeth, but who's counting). I had poured near endless amounts of carbonated sugar water down my throat and Little Debbie and I had always been close friends. Cookies, candy (in particular jelly beans), donuts, cereal, candy (Did I mention candy? Well it's worth repeating!) all have been consumed with much love and enjoyment. The thing that I love the most, however is cake.
I looooove cake. Anyway you want to serve it to me, any cake to frosting combination you choose will be devoured happily. I am weird in that I am less a fan of frosting as I am of cake, and have even been known to scrape off some of the frosting if I feel there is too much. I love cake so much that on one occasion at work, I actually picked up a piece of cake that I dropped and still ate it, even though it landed frosting side down. To this day people will say to me "Remember that time you ate the cake off the floor?" I do, and I feel no shame. With cake, the 10 second rule is extended to a full minute and a half.
Now even though I love all cake, I do have my favorites. One of my favorites has always been my friend's mother's 9 Serving Chocolate Pudding cake. Oh My God! I even refuse to use the popular acronym that all the kids are using in their tweets and text messaging these days. The cake is divine. We always referred to it as the 9 Serving Cake because that was how many it supposedly contained according to the recipe. Well it may have been 9 servings for your average person,but for me, it was 4, if that. Once, on a dare, I polished off all 9 servings all by myself. I'm not going to say that I was ready to do the Safety Dance after that, but I was in a state of chocolate-induced nirvana. The cake itself was made in the microwave and it was delicious chocolate cake on the outside, and a molten pudding like substance on the inside. And where the two layers met, it was orgasmic! Now one of the items required to make it was paper towels. They were required to keep the cake from splattering all over the microwave, I believe, although I never asked. I never cared. It was all about the cake!
One night, I was sitting at home when I received a call from my friend. He said that his mother had all the ingredients to make the cake, except the paper towels. If I had the towels and could bring them over by 9 pm, she would make the cake for me. I don't even know if I even answered him, or just ran straight to the cupboard to grab some paper towels. I don't even remember if I hung up the phone or if I left it dangling from its cord (or maybe I hung it up with my mind?) Yes kids, our phones still had cords back in those days.
Let me take one second to explain my friend's family and my relationship with them. When I got my license and a car, I spent a good deal of my time at their house. This was primarily because it was kind of the opposite of my house. That is not to say that I in anyway did not love or want to be around my parents, but at my house my parents were... well, my parents. I did not swear and certainly kept my raunchy and inappropriate sense of humor to myself. At my friend's house, however, his parents were more like my friends and I could act more like myself. I said and did things there that I would never say in front of my parents. (If blogging had been around back then, I would have happily let my friend's parents read my posts, and would have been horrified if my parents had read them.)
I told my mother I was heading over, jumped in my car and quickly drove over to their house. They lived about 10 minutes away, normally, but I pushed my little Plymouth Champ for all it was worth (about $3.57). The clock was ticking! After driving like a maniac, I pulled up in front of the house. I usually parked the car on their front lawn next to the road (where I still park when I stop by for a visit, which is not nearly often enough). I leaped out of the car and dashed for the door. To be honest, I don't even remember if I shut my door or even turned the headlights off. I grabbed the paper towels like a football and charged towards the door. Now the truth of the matter was that I was probably there with plenty of time to spare. I was also aware that my friend's mother would have cooked me the cake even if I was 20 minutes late, but I do like to make an entrance!
As I came up to the house, I saw one of my friend's brothers was holding the door open, cheering me on. Well, being the idiot that I was and a complete and utter ham, I dove head first right on through. Now, their front door opens directly into their kitchen, which is linoleumed. I hit that linoleum and kept right on sliding. I felt like Frosty the Snowman belly-whopping down the hill. I can even hear Jimmy Durante saying that "Because John was a chubby little guy, he was the best linoleum-whopper, in the world." I almost smashed my head and took out their lower cabinets. But, it got a big laugh, which I was hoping for. Well, as per the deal, I arrived on time and was rewarded with one of the greatest cakes ever created. This proved to me that the road to the Beetus is sometimes paved with good intentions and linoleum.
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