I love icning, as my kids are fond of calling icing. I’m telling you, I could eat that shit all day long. Icning just makes life a little bit more tolerable. Canned icning, bakery icning, icning, icning, icning! It’s all good. There is, however, an exception. And there always is, isn’t there? Always an exception to the rule. Why can’t a rule just be a rule? Why?
Anyway, the foulness that is the exception to the icning rule is…“bettercreme” icning. What is that crap anyway? All fake and plasticy tasting. As a general rule, I don’t have a problem with things that are fake and plasticy (the exception being betterceme icning, like how I brought that all the way around again? maybe I should just end this now and go take a nap)…I like Velveeta cheese, Cheez Whiz, white chocolate and store bought boobs. My point is…I’m not trying to be high brow here. I’m just saying that bettercreme icning is terrible. And it’s all everywhere. In every non-bakery establishment. And if you don’t look for that sticker? You know the one declaring the cake having bettercreme icning…if you don’t look for that sticker…you’re in for one miserable celebration.
Let’s take a short trip in the wayback machine, shall we? A few weeks ago my folks celebrated their 700th wedding anniversary. The family got together at their house to celebrate, I guess, what my folks would consider the happiest years of their lives. For this huge fiesta, my brother, the Pope of Cookietown, was put in charge of getting the cake. Which, I’m not quite sure how he got assigned the job, considering he’s made the nearly mortal error of getting cakes (yes, multiple cakes) with that bettercreme crap. He, obviously, has trouble locating that sticker.
After dinner was over and cleaned up, Ma brought out the cake in question. I nudged my brother. “This isn’t one of those bettercreme cakes, again, is it?” I asked pulling the cake across the table to me. I turned the cake this way and that, inspecting it through its plastic housing. See…that’s the thing with bettercreme icning…it’s looks practically the same as regular icning.
The Pope shot me his classic “what are you a jackass” look. “C’mon! What’s wrong with you? Do I look like a have a mild retardation?”
I shrugged, considering it for a moment. “Well…did you at least get confirmation from the bakery that it’s not bettercreme?”
Again with the “what are you a jackass” look. “It’s not bettercreme.”
“You didn’t get confirmation, did you?” I persisted.
“It’s not bettercreme!”
“I’m telling you…I’m gonna be seriously pissed if that IS bettercreme, you realize this, don’t you, little brother? And not only that,” I continued. “But, you’ll ruin mom and dad’s anniversary. Again.”
“Whatever.” The Pope shook his head, effectively ending the conversation. “You all will live to tell the tale.”
“Perhaps. But, I for one won’t be happy about it.”
“Will you two shut the hell up? God! What is wrong with you?” Ma scowled, yanking the cake back to her. Clearly someone wasn’t having a happy anniversary! She quickly cut and passed pieces around the table. “Jesse, you want the corner?”
“Of course, mother.” I replied politely. “Thank you very much. And happy anniversary.”
Rolling her eyes, Ma cut the corner off, and slid the cake in my general direction. I carefully studied my brother’s reaction as he stuffed his face full of cake. “Well?” I asked, pulling my piece of cake in front of me.
“I told you already. It’s not bettercreme.” The Pope yelled, particles of cake flying all over the place.
“Nice.” I said, pretending to wipe my face. “Say it, don’t spray it, okay?” I studied my piece a moment longer, then finally chanced the it. I forked the cake. And…
He was right. Not bettercreme. Whew! Anniversary saved!
Satisfied, I devoured the rest of the cake. “Why do they even bother making bettercreme, anyway? Who eats that shit? And who’s the genius who decided to call it bettercreme? Talk about misleading marketing!” I said semi-rhetorically.
“I don’t know.” The Pope replied, ignoring the semi-rhetorical nature of my comments. “It is terrible, though.”
“You’re an idiot, dad.” Natalia finally chimed in, witnessing the entire interaction from across the table.“Oh, yea?” I shot her a look. “If you nearly died from eating bettercreme icning, you wouldn’t think you were being an idiot.”
“Maybe.” She replied. “But, you didn’t nearly die from eating bettercreme icning, though.”
“That is true.” I said pointing my fork at her. “But, that doesn’t make that shit any less nasty.”