do-MESS-ticated

I recall the first time I made hubby a frosted cake. I still giggle about it.

I thank my mother in law for teaching me how to cook. It's really the best way. I can't quite get down her green chili burritos but they are in a heavenly class all by themselves. I find it common that most guys like the way their mother cooks, including my hubby. I just thank the Lord Mr. Coffee noticed more than my cooking skills when we were dating. I was tall, athletic and knew nothing of the evil phenomena called, "gravity" but at 20 years of age, it was completely feasible for me to burn dinner on a weekly basis. Unlike now, even my mother in law asks me for recipes. hehe.

My step-mom taught me a number of skills growing up. Mostly how to set a table fit for Queen Elizabeth. I'd knew which fork to use, folding napkins, using chargers, goblets, etc.. I was hoping that maybe Queen Elizabeth liked char-broiled?

Well, in a rare glimpse of domestication and Martha-like inspiration, I made Mr. Coffee a cake. A labor of love, filled with lovey filling. The problem was I couldn't frost the dumb thing. You know how you start to frost and the cake part starts to break off? I was so frustrated! Mr. Coffee had just gotten home from work and walked into the kitchen from the side entrance.

"HMMMMM, that smells GOOD!!"

Proving once again that the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Actually, the quickest way to anyone's heart is with a sharp object plunged into their chest but that is another matter.

"Hun! I can't get this stupid thing frosted!" as I threw down the spatula in frustration.

Mr. Coffee quickly scoops up the spatula, swirls it around and frosts the cake in under 10 seconds. I looked at him in amazement as he relished the last of the frosting with his newly coveted chocolate-covered spatula. He grinned proudly,

"That's what you get for marrying a concrete finisher."