“Cake is not the enemy” is my brand new mantra.
I’m processing books in the circulation office of the library where I work when I hear a sudden outcry.
âOh no!â
âThis is dreadful.â
âThis is just terrible!â
What catastrophe are my co-workers, all middle-aged women, reacting to? Have the libraryâs computers crashed again? Has a letter from an irate patron just been posted on the bulletin board? Is there another new book by Joyce Carol Oates?
Nope. Theyâre talking about cake.
One of our patrons has baked us a scrumptious-looking chocolate cake, which sits invitingly on the counter in the circulation office. After taking a piece (âI really shouldnât, but⊔) I return to my work station and continue to eavesdrop as my co-workers respond to this thoughtful gift.
âOh my God!â
âUh-oh.â
âThis is just evil.â
Youâd think that eating chocolate cake was the worst possible kind of calamity.
âThis is treacherous.â
âIâm in trouble now.â
âOh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear.”
I begin to wonder — isnât anybody going to say anything positive? Like: âChocolate cake? How cool is that?” Or âI love cake. Iâm having a nice big slice.â
Not a chance. By afternoonâs end, not a single librarian has had anything nice to say about this unexpected treat. Weâve gobbled it down. But have we enjoyed it?
You sure wouldnât think so, listening to us.
Last week, I helped celebrate my pal Lucyâs 40th birthday. As we all sang Happy Birthday, Lucyâs husband brought out a beautiful layer cake heâd made from scratch, lavishly decorated by Olivia, their 7-year-old daughter.
I try to avoid sweets, but I always make an exception for birthday cake. To turn down birthday cake, it seems to me, isnât merely rude. Itâs bad karma.
So I had some. And I enjoyed it, too. But my pleasure was undercut by the guilt I felt about consuming all those empty calories.
Lucyâs other friends also said yes to cake, invariably adding âJust a small slice for me, thanks.â Or âJust a tiny taste.â
But the kids at the party, a gaggle of little girls Olivia’s age, had a totally different response. Drawn to that cake like moths to a flame, each child claimed as large a piece as she could get her hands on, then happily made short work of it.
Seeing cake, they werenât alarmed. They were thrilled.
They were quite a sight, these little girls, beaming, with huge chunks of cake on their plates.
And yet, sometime between now and adulthood, they, too, will stop being delighted by cake and learn to fear it. Rather than taking a big piece and loving it, theyâll ask for a tiny slice and beat themselves up about eating it.
Is there a scientific name for this crazy cake phobia? The terror that strikes the hearts of otherwise sane and mature women when offered a delicious dessert? Yes, cake has zero nutritional value. Still, shouldnât a grown woman be able to simply enjoy a piece from time to time?
Listening to my co-workers kvetch about our cake, and remembering how much those little girls loved eating theirs, I resolved that I would try to shed my own fear of delicious pastry and get back in touch with my inner 7-year-old.
Call it Radical Middle-Aged Cake Acceptance.
When comes to cake, Iâm going to give myself just two options. Either smile and say âNo, thanks.â Or have a piece and enjoy it, without ambivalence or guilt, the way I did when I was a kid.
âCake is not the enemy” is my brand new mantra. (You can try it too. Just repeat after me: âCake is not dreadful. Cake is delicious.â)
Is this an impossible dream?
Invite me to your next party and letâs find out.
(This essay first appeared on www.womensvoicesforchange.org)
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