Liar, liar, pants on fire!!!!!!
This is yet another blog about my childhood. I plead the 5th if asked if I have gotten away with a lie recently...
As a child, I loved sweets. I had tons of extra weight and a few cavities to prove it. Anything that involved trans fat and/or sugar was annihilated immediately. One day, I was starving for some sugar. I searched all the cabinets in the kitchen but couldn't find anything that was sweet. Finally, in the back of one of the cabinets was a can of frosting sitting next to a box of cake batter. It was vanilla- my favorite. I needed, wanted it, had to have it. I really just needed a taste, so a plan was quickly developed. I would open it, and only take one ittybitty spoonful. Then I would smooth the frosting out on top, glue the foil back on the can, and VOILA!!! My mother would never know!
My genius plan quickly fell apart. The frosting wasn't totally smooth on top- it had a twirl effect. I had to put the can in the microwave and try to perfect the twirl. Three microwave sessions later, part of the can melted. And as for the foil plan- I couldn't find any glue. What was a girl to do? I was left with no choice but to eat the rest of the can of frosting. My gluttony inflicted two problems: (1.) I was sick and (2.) Where was I going to hide the evidence? After I threw up (problem #1 took care of itself), I hastily threw the can of frosting in my closet.
By day two, I was starting to get paranoid. Though no one had asked me about the icing, the evidence was burning a hole in my conscience and closet. I was afraid of my room getting searched, so I took the empty can of icing and hid it in the corner of the basement. That evening, my mother decided to bake a cake, but could not find the icing. She asked us we we knew where it was, and gave me an extra long glare. My family informed my mother that we had no idea where the icing was and then suggested that she could have forgotten to purchase it. This sent her over the edge. Cabinets were searched, slammed, and thrashed. Then off she went, squealing all the way out the driveway and down the road. She was a maniac on a canned icing mission. I would love to say that I felt awful, but I knew that she would calm down and bake. I saw no need in compromising my integrity (ahem, or lack of thereof). I knew that I could get a piece of cake- as long as kept my mouth shut.
Fifteen years later, I came clean to my mother. The overdue spanking never came. She laughed and told me that she thought she was crazy because she distictly remembered buying that can of icing. I am more slender now, and I try to be as honest as I can- some lessons just have to be learned with time. Until then, I have four famous last words: Let them eat cake.
