The Cupcake

“You really think it’s worth it for a cupcake?”

“Yes. Yes I do. It’s two dollar Tuesday. And this is my last chance to go.”

“Really? I mean ‘really you want to leave the house’ not about the last chance, two dollar thing. I don’t think he wants to go. And he can’t eat a cupcake because of the surgery this morning.”

“He feels better now and if he tears it into little pieces he can probably eat one. If that doesn’t work we can get him ice cream or a milkshake. And they’re really good cupcakes. The bakery won Cupcake Wars. We need to get out of the house anyway. A drive will do us good.”

“Whatever… I’ll go if you pick out their clothes.”

“Quit worrying. It’ll be fine.”


“What took so long?”

“He was freaking out, screaming and throwing himself to the floor because he didn’t want to go to the cupcake store. I told him he could try it and if it didn’t work we could get him ice cream and then he started freaking out about that.”

“So we’re not going now?”

“No, we’re going. He’s coming out the house. See?”

“You think this is a good idea?”

“It’ll be fine.”


“I’m sorry you can’t eat your cupcake, but you have to stop screaming. It doesn’t help anything… No your brother shouldn’t stop eating his cupcake just because you… ”

“Well if we wanted to be fair…”



“No, we’ll save your cupcake until tomorrow and… STOP SCREAMING!! We’ll stop for ice cream. You’ll be able to eat that. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”


“I’m sorry it hurts to… Stop screaming please! I’m sorry it hurts to eat ice cream. Just put… Listen! Stop freaking out and LISTEN TO ME! Just try to put a little in your mouth at a time and let it melt…”

“I guess he doesn’t like that idea… Hey! Don’t be so dramatic and STOP SCREAMING! Do you want me to be so distracted that I wreak the car and we all die a horrible flaming death?!?!”

“Now who’s being dramatic?”

“Whatever. You wanted to ‘go and get two dollar cup cakes‘. This is all on you. You were… SHUSH! ALL OF YOU BACK THERE! I swear if you y’all don’t quiet down none of you will ever eat AGAIN!!!!”

“I wonder where he gets it.”


“Oh so you’re not talking to me now?”




“Fine, I’m sorry, it was a terrible idea. Ok?”

“Yep… Well I hope the cupcake was worth it.”


“So how was it? Was it worth all this?”

“… It was fine.”

So I Went Back Home Again And It Was OK

They (who ever “they” are, and in this case I think the “they” is a who and I’m pretty sure the who is Tom Wolfe) say you can never go home again. That statement is total and complete bullshit of highest order.

I’ll totally admit that sometimes going back to your hometown, especially if it’s been awhile, can be a bit awkward, but for most people getting back into the swing of things doesn’t take a whole lot of doing.

If your blessed like I am and your hometown is Charleston, SC  “getting back in the swing of things” means good food and good conversation with people you haven’t seen in a while while standing around a fire sipping beer and occasionally taking a taste of home-made corn liquor.  Which to say, in the colloquial tongue of my people, “ain’t really all that hard”.

So yeah, that part of going home was pretty enjoyable.

It wasn’t all great though; my wife ran a low-grade fever most of the weekend and only got more and more annoyed when I tried to cure it with more cowbell, two out of the three of my children are bruised, scabbed and battered due to hard play and for the first time in my life I can say I’m completely sick of oysters due to eating them almost every meal for two straight days (two bushels were too much).

But over all it was an good enough trip to counteract this problem.

Except for homesickness.

That may be worse.

Going Home Again

I live approximately two and a half  hours from my home town, which makes going back and visiting family and friends quite easy.

I despise these visits.

The justifications for these strong negative feelings are varied and pretty damn complicated but the first and foremost, and probably most superficial, reason for hating these trips is being in the car for more than a few minutes at a time with my three children. I’m convinced that my own personal hell will be driving for eternity down a featureless interstate with no exits while the kids scream from the back seat. And I’ll probably need to pee.

One of the other reasons why I dislike going back home is that my home town is Charleston, South Carolina, which is if you don’t know, a foodie’s paradise. (This would be a great place for me show examples with links but I’m a terribly lazy person.)

I love good food.

I’m always broke when I go to Charleston.

This last trip to Charleston I was able to enjoy a lunch from Chick-fil-a, which I admit was kind of a treat due to not eating there since the whole giving money to hate groups thing they were into there for a while, but still, Chick-fil-a? This is a city where your smallest hole-in-the-wall diner serves dishes with shrimp that were caught earlier in the day from local waters and bathroom stalls in the diviest of the dive bars have graffiti dedicated to the fatty rich wonders of foie gras next to the “for a good time call…” graffiti. And I have to eat at a fucking fast food place that’s famous for fried chicken sandwiches and a deep hatred for homosexuals…

As for all the other reasons I dislike going home again, well, lets say they’re directly related to the great bouts of homesickness going back causes.

I miss you Charleston.