Wednesday, May 4, 2011
the main ingredient is love. the secondary ingredient is robot.
You might think that's what love looks like. And it is.
Or, if you read this blog frequently, you might think love looks like the new steampunktastic boots Dr. Krog finally forced me to give in and buy since they refused to go on sale and made me drool all over the keyboard.
And you'd be right. That's also love.
But sometimes, love looks like this.
And then, an hour later, it starts to look like this.
And then your four-year-old walks in and laughs and tell you that it's ugly and horrible, and you tell her to buzz off and mind her own beeswax because YOU'RE NOT DONE YET, DAGNABBIT.
And then an hour later it looks like this.
And you say to yourself, "Man, it's hard to make fist-sized cakeballs and coat them in gray-tinted white chocolate."
And then you scratch your head and add, "That looks like a mutant bee carrying three mutant carrots."
But you keep working, and you use every bowl and spoon and cake pan you own, and then you get this.
And you look at it, and you say, "Yeah, I guess that looks like Omega Supreme."
But you're not sure, so you compare it to your husband's prized possession, one of his all-time favorite, holy grail Transformers.
And then you curse your somewhat lacking skills in cake decoration and the sorry affair of red food coloring, and you clean out the top shelf of the fridge and wonder HOW LONG HAS THAT SLIMY ONION BEEN IN THERE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY?, and you wipe the frosting from your brow and remember why you named your blog "unruly helpmeet."
And then you wait for your sweet husband to come home from work so you can start celebrating his birthday a day early, because that's how you roll, even if he's not feeling all that great.
And then you hope he knows that LOVE looks like an awkward, slightly lumpy, oddly colored, 2-dimensional, cookie-winged facsimile of that weird lump of Japanese plastic he loves so much.
Judging by his face, he knows.