A Cupcake’s Tragic End

Living in an apartment can be challenging at times. I will say that you have not made it easier.

There is the random trash in the hallway. I still have not figured out exactly why you were eating canned peaches on the steps by my door or why the can decided to make a home there, but nevertheless it was there day after day. There was the time the carpet was torn up or the hastily scribbled profanity written on the hallway wall. The spilled bottle of what my wife tells me is called “concealer”, though I just call it “weird pasty goo”.

All of these things were wildly unpleasant, but I could get past them. I did not complain loudly about these things or pound on your door, screaming that you had made our apartment building look like what I assume a dirty crack den would look like minus, of course, the crack. I just let it roll right off my back and went on my merry little way. Not to toot my own horn, but I was very Zen about the whole thing.

Today, though, is the absolute last straw. What you have done is absolutely intolerable. You have done some pretty heinous things in the past, but this is unforgiveable. Out on the front stoop, a place that is normally very clean, sat the evidence of your unfortunate decision. I had never seen anything like it, the mess spreading from step to step. I have heard about the horrors of war, but never had I imagined something as repulsive as this.

You monsters had destroyed one of the most sacred things in life. There on the steps sat the remains of one delicious chocolate cupcake with white frosting.

There are certain things no decent human would do. The audacity you would have to take a baked good and smash it on steps is awe-inspiring.

The worst part is trying to figure out exactly where this cupcake came from. People do not just stumble upon random cupcakes that are lying about waiting for a hooligan to smash them. The way I figure it, there are only three ways you could have come into possession of a cupcake.

Option 1: You came across a small child enjoying a delightful cupcake. “Hey,” you said to your cohorts. “I really want to smash that thing!” Then you ran over to the child, kicked him or her in the shin, and stole their cupcake. You proceeded to smash it in front of them. This option makes you look like terrible people, though I guess you should get some kudos for demonstrating to this child the level of disappointment that comes with adulthood early in life.

Option 2: You baked cupcakes. You spent hours slaving away in a hot kitchen, mixing the ingredients just right. A bit of vanilla extract, a dash of cinnamon. Then you waited, eagerly anticipating the ding of the timer. When the time finally arrived, you carefully slipped on your oven mitt, pulled the cupcake tin out of the oven, let it cool for a few minutes, then grabbed one and smashed it on the front stoop. It seems like an awful lot of work to me.

Option 3: You got in your car and drove to the nearest grocery store. Once there, you carefully perused the bakery. Finally, after a great deal of hunting, you saw the perfect cupcake. You walked to the register and pulled out your hard earned money. You then drove all the way back home, got out of your car, then smashed that cupcake on the front step.

As you can see, none of these options seem like the decisions of a sane person.

I hope that tonight when you sleep, all you can hear is the imaginary screaming of that one cupcake. Such a terrible, senseless decision when, just a door down, sat a person who would have loved to have eaten that cupcake.

In the future, I ask that you run all baked goods by me before smashing. If you wanted to smash gluten-free dairy-free sugar-free brownies, have at it. If they are regular brownies, though, I cannot allow that. If you agree to this, I will gladly let you continue to live in filth as that seems to be the choice you have made.

Just please leave the baked goods alone. They haven’t hurt anyone.

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