My Soul is a Deranged Cupcake


I embarked on my project by lining up hundreds of quarter-sized macaroon cookies. They were in fact a canvas of dormant little heads waiting to be actualized with wee eyes and wee mouths.  The blank cookie faces first received white, Lilliputian-worthy eyeballs.  The challenge here involved proper spacing and size.   A slight misstep of pressure of the index finger on the piping bag resulted in an instant Cyclops, and Halloween had already passed.  The final faces would be placed atop cupcakes, with halved marshmallow pillows, and cozy, fondant blankies. 

I continued by dotting each white eyeball with an even wee-er dark-brown pupil. I quickly discovered that the minutest spatial differentiation resulted in an infinite spectrum of facial expressions. (The goal for this particular face was “frightened,” as the final product would be holding a book that read “Ghost.”)  “Frightened,” was best achieved when the pupils were very small and in the dead center of the whites.  This, unfortunately, was where they landed only fifty percent of the time.  Sometimes the pupils crossed a bit.  Other times, one turned out to be slightly larger than the other.  In both cases, the little people look deranged, at least.  Other times, the pupils spread, dilating the eyes and generating shocked, or stunned clones of little, cupcake people. 

The eyebrows added an equal level of emotion to the faces.  A frightened macaroon head could become a very angry little macaroon head with the variation of a simple angle or exaggerated arch.  At the end of the day, the majority of the little faces appeared to be “bewildered,” more than anything else.  They seemed to innocently look up and say, “Why am I here? And why am I so absurd? Tell us please, Creator?”


As a final feature, they all received a head of spiky, bright orange hair (only enhancing their already crazed and deranged tendencies). 

Chef was working on her own set of faces.  In contrast to the deranged set, of orange-haired muppet creatures I had turned out, she was creating hundreds of sweet, sleeping little boy people. Some holding teddy bears.  Each had happy, closed eyes and beautifully peaceful smiles.  They were, in fact, Ideal.

The contrasting demeanors of our little people lead me only to suppose that our bakeshop creations must reveal a window to our true natures (Yes, I may, or may not, be saying that those little deranged creatures resemble the workings of my mind).  Or, perhaps more attractively said, what we create with our hands, we make from our hearts.  



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