We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Programming...

I know, I know. What happened to you in the jungle, Millicent? I'll tell, I'll tell. But first, I want to discuss something truly grinding. That and give a shout out to Tom Harper over at Who Hijacked Our Country for posting today's parable that everyone should read. It relates to my next story. In an obscure kind of way.

On Saturday, Manpants and I were invited to an impromptu dinner party at a friend's. We offered to bring dessert and went to our favorite little cake place for a scrummy little light lunch, followed with our request to Uncle R. behind the counter for the dessert of the evening - a black-out cake with a layer of espresso that could put a person into a coma.

While we were there, a man comes in - very Beverly Hills Adjacent looks, harried, holding a cell phone. He proceeds to interrogate the owner about every single cake. The owner goes into the cooling room and brings out cake after cake after cake, explaining the fillings, the confection toppings, etc. . . After each cake, the man either says, "Oh that won't do," or he gets on his cell phone, says a few words and then says to the owner, "That won't do. What else have you got?"

Enter a Beverly Hills Adjacent harried looking pregnant woman with a 6 year old girl in tow. She approaches the harried looking man.

I'm thinking to myself, "Of course! She's pregnant! It's a Pickle Cake problem!" I'm guessing she is looking for something very specific, and I'm completely down with that. Hell, girl, eat the entire left side of the menu.

She speaks a few words to her husband, who relays something to the owner, who schlepps back to the cooling room for what appears to be the White Chocolate with Rasberry Filling and confection cake. Yummy. There are looks of concern on the faces of the family all around, and I decide to go back to my delicious turkey breast sandwich and stop spying on humanity for once in my life.

I look up just in time to see the whole family turn around and leave, with no cake, while the owner stands there with this funny look on his face that is sort of combined amusement with disbelief. Well, the cakes are pretty dreamy - how could they leave with no cake? Okay, just a side note here, the place is too crowded already so I'm not saying the name because I'm feeling ornery today. I picked up a little parasite in Peru that has left me feeling annoyed. But to borrow from The Devil Wears Prada "I'm one [parasite] away from my ideal weight!"

Where was I?

Oh yes. So, while Manpants has gone up to the counter to speak to Uncle R. about the cake, the owner (with the combination look on his face) plops himself down in the seat next to mine. I, being really nosy, say, "What was that over there?" It turns out, it was Pregnant Beverly Hills Adjacent's birthday and the cake was for her. She had her heart set on the White Chocolate Rasberry. The 6 year old girl, however, informed everyone that she wouldn't be eating that, so they were negotiating other possibilities with her. She wanted the black out cake because of the pretty toppings. The owner told them he couldn't sell them the cake if they were going to feed it to a child because they'd never get the child down off the ceiling if she ate any. After 25 minutes of back and forth and negotiations with the child, they gave up and left. Happy Birthday, Mommy.

And people wonder why we're calling it the "Entitlement Generation." Since when do we negotiate with children? Especially over a birthday cake that is not theirs? The kid will be a monster by 8 and in rehab by 12. If we don't teach structure, boundaries and respect for others when they are young - can we really expect them to grow into people who are anything other than lawless individuals with disdain for everyone around them?

Kind of like our current president.