Offering great respect to Homer Simpson I still need to lament the way baked good are tearing at the very fabric of my marriage.
Somewhere in the archives of this blog you can read the heated full family fight about which is the TOP of the pancake. I had reasoning for my opinion then (the side facing the sky on your first pour) but I didn’t feel quite as adamant as I do this time.
It is four days since our original battle and I still don’t think Steve has shown the repentance that he ought to have for being SO SO wrong.
Saturday was birthday party day.
We woke at 7:30 and Steve prepared to hit the road for various tire shaped edibles. I stayed behind to try to keep the birthday boy’s excitement level just below dangerously high. As Steve left he asked me what kind of donut I wanted. I said: “plain.”
I had never known the word plain to be confusing. But evidently tip of the mitt Michigan doesn’t sell donuts without some sort of sauce. New England birthed Dunkin’ had a variety of plain. The namesake Dunkin’ itself with the nub to hold on to (slash save for the best bite ever.) The plain cruller (guess what’s on the plain cruller- nothing. Because it is plain.) Of course there was just plain. Which was plain. No fancy shape, no glaze, no custard, no frosting, no toppings. Say it with me. Plain.
don’t believe can’t confirm that there were no actual plain donuts for sale in the middle finger of Michigan I can tell you that the logic that Steve followed from there was no logic at all.
Since, he told me, there was no plain, the donuts with the sugar water coating was plain. You mean the GLAZED donut? I asked him. If you can call a shriek asking.
“No, that one is plain.”
I countered with characteristic brilliance.
If there is no zero on your numberline one doesn’t just become zero. I felt my case was rested. But no.
“I reject your analogy.”
What? I was so proud of this analogy. I used math. What could be more logical than math?
In a nod towards getting the hell out the door and leaving me in a state where I could potentially calm the kids he threw me this bone. “Perhaps it is just different because of where we grew up.” I’ll give you circles versus roundabouts, but plain versus glazed. Those are NOT two different terms for the same items.
I calmed myself enough to say: “for some reason it matters to me that you admit that you were wrong.” He slipped out the door with a smirk.
Returning home with the bursting pink boxes he told me he had ordered plain just to see what would happen. I tore open the lid to see both plain and glazed (plus cocoa pebble, maple bacon, voodoo, oreo…) “If this is plain” I said, stabbing my finger into the glazed donut “What the bleep is this?” Except I didn’t bleep.
At this point I had won, but so unsatisfactorily.
At the birthday party I asked the parents and kids what they would call the large birthday cake glazed donut that we had in front of Leo lit with candles. Before I let them sing I demanded an answer.
They were with me. Young and old. They all thought it was glazed, and when I held my small cake like donut they called it plain. I almost wept with relief. So I told them the story. And those little assholes started to call the glazed plain.
Just to mess with me.