This week, our writers had a baking and wine-drinking shindig. It’s the night before a bake sale, and we have shit to get done. We are divide-and-conquering like nobody’s business. Over the last six years, I’ve convinced myself that I am the only person in the world who can properly and adequately add eggs, oil, and water to a Funfetti mix and ration the batter into cupcake tins so that they rise to the perfect height. Duh, tonight I’m on cupcake duty.
A few things are about to happen:
First, the other half of my cupcake team deliberates if she should separate the paper from the foil in the cupcake tins or leave them together. Click here for pictorial reference. “Obviously pull them apart,” I tell her. “I always do that. Then you have double the amount of cupcake tins.” People laugh. It wasn’t a joke.
Secondly, we pour the batter into the cupcake tins. If you were wondering, we decided to keep the paper and foil together–we didn’t need that many cupcake tins and figured that, if we’re being realistic, we wouldn’t bake cupcakes again until the next new moon or Kimye’s pregnancy announcement, whichever comes first. “You’re not really putting enough batter in the tins,” she tells me. “They probably won’t rise.”
What she didn’t know is that I am a Funfetti professional and that I knew in my heart of hearts that the cupcakes would, indeed, rise to the top, because I was pouring the absolute minimum amount of batter in order for them to do so. I mean, hello, I have been told by an ex-hookup or two that I put the “Fun, capital F” in “Funfetti.” So, I tell her, “If we pour the minimum amount of batter in each, then we can make more cupcakes to sell and make more money.”
Her reply was that this was a) the second time that night I had conformed to Jewish stereotypes and b) for this reason, it’s pretty unbelievable that I don’t take my religion seriously enough to be K for P (Kosher for Passover) (I was eating Oreos sporadically the whole night) (Oreos are not K for P).
I wasn’t always this way–so frugal, so meticulous, so much like Ben Stiller in Along Came Polly. In fact, up until two days ago, I was much more like Polly. I’ve always loved spicy food, hated wearing a bra, and dressed as if I was on vacation in Morocco. Look, I even have proof:
That was two days ago! And it shows both how I spend money really irresponsibly and dressed like Polly!
In fact, if we’re being honest, the Free People order was cancelled because I didn’t have enough money on my debit card to cover it. So, no, I have not always been so obsessed with getting the most bang for my buck. Unless you count my relationship with the Urban Outfitters sale rack an obsession with getting the most bang for my buck.
Today, a friend brought up “the cupcake incident,” referring to my paperclip chain of Larry David one-liners. It was as if this moment, one of the many in which I’ve proven a stereotype true, was a defining one, an unforgettable snippet of time. The weight of it was surprising considering how often I’ve proven stereotypes about young Jewish professionals true, though I don’t consider myself a professional at anything besides being young and Jewish.
What’s different, though, is that my valley girl tendency to vocal fry or my feelings for frozen yogurt and scruffy boys with imperfect noses are not “big kid” things. Sure, the latter two are symbols of sexual awakening, but they don’t make me an adult any further than that. But being frugal–being aware of spending money in relation to making it, getting the most bang for my buck, and, really, simultaneously having the least amount of bucks and the most financial independence I ever have, certainly does.
Expect many more anal comments and hyperaware thoughts to be uttered from these lips. Ugh, we grow up so fast.
Image via.