Last weekend I made my very first batch of cupcakes for a baby shower where there would be four pregnant women in attendance. Even though I’ve had two babies, I couldn’t remember if cream cheese is on the ‘naughty’ list when you’re with child. What a conundrum. I decided to play it safe so they could choose to play it safe and I only iced some of the cupcakes.
Along came my husband to assess how many I had iced and how many I had left au naturale. He started wading in on this huge issue, waffling on about numbers (he’s an accountant, numbers are his thing) and all sorts of mathematical theories. Before he started bringing in algebra, calculus and drawing me a Venn diagram, I interrupted to ask why on earth he was getting involved at all. He’s a helpful guy but gee whiz, this was hardly rocket science.
Wanna know why? He’d figured out that if I did things his way, there would be one cupcake left, which just happens to be the same number of mouths he has. That cupcake disappeared faster than lightening and I shook my head and had a little laugh. The good news was that he was able to confirm that they tasted good, which was very important because I knew my decorating was going to be substandard. So I learned two things that morning: 1) a little basic maths and 2) I still suck at cake decorating.
Sidenote: Did anyone else marry Mr Always Right? I don’t mean a guy who thinks he is always right but (WAY worse) a guy who normally is always right. So annoying. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been mid discussion, getting really self righteous when I realise I’m wrong and he’s right. Then there’s that awkward moment when I have to ADMIT it. Ew.