It’s Saturday evening and I got a night off of preparing dinner – although I did mix the salad and made the potatoes – Mr. Niceguy took care of the main on the barbecue. It was delicious and as full as I am, all I can think of is now is pushing all that glorious food from our fantastic meal down with some cake. If it were not for the countless empty calories and extra fat, oh the pleasure of eating perfectly baked and iced fluffy, soft, spongy cake…yummm……
It’s not like I have a sweet tooth – but the idea of consuming something so delectable, so sweet, more of a treat and pure indulgence – well, it’s intoxicating. In fact, so intoxicating, that it’s enough to forget about the price that must be paid for such decadence.
A French princess (and oftentimes, Marie Antoinette) supposedly said, “let them eat cake!” to the French peasantry, then suffering from a famine and with very little or no access to bread. The ridiculousness of this statement was that cake, which requires eggs and butter, was scarcer still. She was oblivious to her peoples’ predicament – and downplayed their suffering and the price of famine. And for some reason, my mind always wanders to this when I hear, “you can’t have your cake and eat it too.”
Is it that same oblivion that makes me think that I can? Like wanting more wisdom but to still remain blissfully ignorant…
Like wanting a promotion without putting in the effort, spending more time with my kids without risking my career, wanting a toned body without giving up on ketchup chips…and what happens when the cake is right there, staring right at you, and you just can’t have it?
The 3 year old has figured out how NOT to pay the price…with a scream that is so incredibly, ear piercingly, almost cause a car accident, loud! Mr. Niceguy and I feel like hostages as soon as we’re subjected to it…it’s like someone is using mystical powers to make our brains explode within the confines of our skulls! Excruciating! But that’s his way of making sure that he gets to eat his proverbial cake.
My scream is not nearly as loud (and despite what Mr. Niceguy says when we’re in a fight, I AM NOT A TODDLER). So I have to pay a price – akin to comforting a sweet, sick child and then paying by having a debilitating cold in the aftermath. An odd example, true, but this comes to mind as earlier this morning when I escaped the insanity at home in an effort to grab a latte at the local coffee shop and pump my veins with some much needed caffeine, stood a sweet little girl right next to me, who probably just started back to school, coughing nonstop. For a moment I felt so bad and tried to make her smile, but then her mom started coughing too and one dejected, miserable look from her told me that catching a bug for wanting to get out of the house and have some peace and quiet was NOT part of the bargain.
Ugh. And now I’m caught in fantasy once again… I fantasize about what my life would be like had I taken an alternate path. Had I not had children, had I ignored Mr. Niceguy a little harder (let it be known here that HE pursued ME throughout our first year at graduate school and had it not been for his sweet temperament, sharp, witty mind, gorgeous face and washboard abs – yes I’m shallow – I may have resisted)? What if I had decided not to go to MBA school at all and instead, followed my high school dreams?
My older cousin had a poster in her room of a really cool garage full of Ferraris. And at 16 I wanted nothing more than to move to Malibu so that I could live in a beach house on the Pacific, with a Ferrari (or two) parked in the driveway. I’d be surrounded by palm trees one if which would have a red surfboard with a yellow stripe down the middle leaning against it. I would spend all of my days listening to the waves crash, looking for dolphins and surfing. To fund my adventures, I would go into work for a couple of hours only each day as I’d be a $500-an-hour criminal lawyer and really, that’s all the money I would need. THIS was MY fantasy. Forget that I didn’t have a clue about what it meant to go to law school or for that matter, to get into law school and stay in law school (too much reading…yikes!) Also, forget about the fact that I’d never surfed a day in my life…and still haven’t. Blissful ignorance…
No matter. Every girl, and I mean, every–single–girl has a Plan B. We’re smart that way. My other path would’ve led me to Paris, the city of lights. A path that I pursued more seriously in my 20’s… Ahhhhhh Paris….the city of romance, of art and fashion, architecture, music, food that’s incroyable, history, the center of times gone by and so on and so forth. And what girl does not dream of being whisked away by a Marcel, Olivier, Gaston or Jean Jacques? Having grown up far away from where I am now, I was fortunate to have parents that valued learning multiple languages: by the age of 10 my ears were filled with Armenian, English, French, Spanish and Arabic. Today, sadly I am only 100% fluent in two. In any case it was a dream of mine to get an apartment off the Champs Élysées near the Georges V hotel, live off wine and cheese and simply fulfill one of my deepest desires to become totally fluent in not only the French language, but also the culture. I would tour around the French countryside as a French girl, let’s call her Estella, and before you judge it would work! I have frequently been mistaken for French!
See, back in my 20’s, I traveled throughout Greece and Italy before going back to graduate school where, I was frequently mistaken for French – no idea why. But imagine being mistaken for a French girl at a beach side bar FULL of Italians sporting face paint in Mykonos, during one of the key final FIFA world cup games between Italy and France? Every time I got up from my seat to get a drink from the bar, I had to cross in front of all the die-hard fans and I would get the look of a million daggers. I’ve never cheered as loudly for Italy in all my life as I did then, and when they lost I flew out of the bar as fast as my tanned legs could carry me! Ever been around an angry mob of soccer fans??
Ahhhh…fantasies. They all require some form of payment, some form of sacrifice. And as vivid as my imagination is, I don’t think I could have ever dreamt up where I stand now. At times, my path has been as clear as water, while at other times, it’s led me to places so unexpected and unbelievable. Perhaps it is oblivion. I know I’ve paid along the way, and although it doesn’t always seem it, I can honestly say my cake’s been delicious.