Radical Middle-aged
Cake Acceptance
by Roz Warren
I‘m
processing books in the circulation office of the
library where I work when I hear a sudden outcry.
“Oh no!”
“This is
dreadful.”
“This is
just terrible!”
What
catastrophe are my co-workers, all middle-aged
women, reacting to? Have the library’s
computers crashed again? Has a letter from
an irate patron just been posted on the bulletin
board? Is there another new book by Joyce Carol
Oates?
Nope. They’re
talking about cake.
One of our
patrons has baked us a scrumptious-looking
chocolate cake, which sits invitingly on the
counter in the circulation office. After taking a
piece (“I really shouldn’t, but…“)
I return to my work station and continue to
eavesdrop as my co-workers respond to this
thoughtful gift.
“Oh my
God!”
“Uh-oh.“
“This is
just evil.”
You’d
think that eating chocolate cake was the worst
possible kind of calamity.
“This is
treacherous.”
“I’m
in trouble now.”
“Oh dear.
Oh dear. Oh dear.“
I begin to
wonder -- isn’t anybody going to say
anything positive? Like: “Chocolate
cake? How cool is that?“ Or “I
love cake. I’m having a nice big slice.”
Not a chance.
By afternoon’s end, not a single librarian
has had anything nice to say about this
unexpected treat. We’ve gobbled it down. But
have we enjoyed it?
You sure
wouldn’t think so, listening to us.
Last week, I
helped celebrate my pal Lucy’s 40th birthday.
As we all sang Happy Birthday, Lucy’s
husband brought out a beautiful layer cake he’d
made from scratch, lavishly decorated by Olivia,
their 7-year-old daughter.
I try to avoid
sweets, but I always make an exception for
birthday cake. To turn down birthday cake, it
seems to me, isn’t merely rude.
It’s bad karma.
So I had some.
And I enjoyed it, too. But my pleasure was
undercut by the guilt I felt about consuming all
those empty calories.
Lucy’s
other friends also said yes to cake, invariably
adding “Just a small slice for me,
thanks.” or “Just a tiny taste.”
But the kids
at the party, a gaggle of little girls Olivia‘s
age, had a totally different response. Drawn to
that cake like moths to a flame, each child
claimed as large a piece as she could get
her hands on, then happily made short work of it.
Seeing cake,
they weren’t alarmed. They were thrilled.
They were
quite a sight, these little girls, beaming, with
huge chunks of cake on their plates.
And yet,
sometime between now and adulthood, they, too,
will stop being delighted by cake and learn to
fear it. Rather than taking a big piece and
loving it, they’ll ask for a tiny slice and
beat themselves up about eating it.
Is there a
scientific name for this crazy cake phobia? The
terror that strikes the hearts of otherwise sane
and mature women when offered a delicious dessert?
Yes, cake has zero nutritional value. Still,
shouldn’t a grown woman be able to simply
enjoy a piece from time to time?
Listening to
my co-workers kvetch about our cake, and
remembering how much those little girls loved
eating theirs, I resolved that I would try to
shed my own fear of delicious pastry and get back
in touch with my inner 7-year-old.
Call it
Radical Middle-aged Cake Acceptance.
When comes to
cake, I’m going to give myself just two
options. Either smile and say “No, thanks.“
Or have a piece and enjoy it, without ambivalence
or guilt, the way I did when I was a kid.
“Cake is
not the enemy“ is my brand new mantra. (You
can try it too. Just repeat after me: “Cake
is not dreadful. Cake is delicious.”)
Is this an
impossible dream?
Invite me to
your next party and let’s find out.
This
essay first appeared on www.womensvoicesforchange.org
|
