Cake Doesn't Give a Fuck.
Just the other day, I met another one of them. A Person Who Does Not Like Cake (APWDNLC). I guess I really didn't meet her. I have known her for a couple of years. I really like her; in some ways, I depend upon her. And there she was, sitting in front of me, telling me that she does not like cake. She even asked her family to not get her cake or ice cream for her birthday. They were, of course, disappointed.
Even after this brutal blow, cake went on being cake; magnificent, lovely and delightful. As you might have guessed, this is not about cake. Not really. Nothing ever is.
This is about accepting who you are based upon....you. This is about asking for what you want, or don't want, based upon....what you want...or...don't want. It sounds a bit ridiculous; asking for things that you don't want, settling for things that you don't want, but we do it, I do it, all the time. Because it makes the people around me more comfortable. I mean, when the people around me are comfortable, then I am comfortable, right? Even if I have to sacrifice just a little bit of who I truly am, just a little bit of what I value, it is worth it, so they will be more comfortable, so I will be more comfortable, right?
That is how it goes in my mind. I rationalize. I argue against my own best interest, in my head. I have done it since I was young, when I didn't want to make my parents uncomfortable. After that, I didn't want to make my relatives uncomfortable. Then, my friends in junior high. I actually got a Farrah Fawcett haircut so that a bunch of twelve year old girls wouldn't be uncomfortable. (I wish I had known that twelve year old girls are generally uncomfortable, and it has nothing to do with my hair.) I spent hours every morning with a curling iron and Aqua Net. Ugh. Then in high school. Then...yes..even after...in art school...in my marriage...I did a lot of sacrificing for the sake of other people who would eventually disappear from my life...and leave me with....me.
I was forty. My parents died. My marriage ended. I was alone. And what did all that comforting others do for me? I barely knew any of those people any more. It showed me that what I had been doing was bullshit.
Then there is my butt. In the picture, above. It is barely there, but you can kinda see it. What a big deal has been made of my butt. The snide remarks. The fat ass comments. There is very little I can do about that. I was born to parents who were both blessed with booty. I consider myself lucky in that way. Love it or hate it, my butt is my butt, just like cake, (You have never, nor will you ever again, read a sentence that profound in print. I guarantee it.), and it doesn't give a fuck.
Cake doesn't give a fuck if you love it. Cake is still awesome. Cake is still epic. Cake is a gift to the world and all of its inhabitants. And, yes, so are you. If there is a moment in your day when you are thinking you might want to amend your habits, hold back expressing your point of view, or otherwise re-consider being all of your true self, remember, you are like cake.
And you don't give a fuck.
I think everyone should know that they are like cake, so you should probably go ahead and share this. FB like, tweet, email it to a homie.
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