The Absence of My Cupcakes

                I think the focal point of every birthday is one word: cupcakes.  When I awoke in the morning, my dad was half-way out the door.  As he went, he called out, “I bought you some cupcakes.  They’re on the counter.  Eat them for breakfast!”  I would have preferred to stay in bed…

                And I tried to, which was a bad idea.  By the time I  woke up, I had roughly twenty-five minutes until it was time to leave for school.  Somehow, I managed.  I grabbed the cupcakes as I rushed out the door five minutes later than (but still early enough to be on time!) I usually did.

                I never actually got the chance to eat any before first period.  Or during first period.  And I refused to eat any during second period.  (Really, what kind of girl wants to eat a cupcake with five starving teenage boys breathing down her neck, and nowhere near the right number of cupcakes to feed everyone?  That would be ridiculous…and possibly deadly!)  And so I waited.  When third period rolled around, I took them along with me.

                We had been assigned a “work day” for our final papers on The Crucible, so it was supposed to be a fairly relaxed day.  I still didn’t think I could give them away because we still had too many for everyone to get one.  That is until I was schooled in mathematics.  Apparently we typically had seven people in our class.  (Honestly, I have no idea where I got the number eight!)  With one girl absent, the boys (Napoleon, Juan Carlos, Alfred the Moon Cat, and Copperhead) were practically drooling over the cupcakes.

                It should have been no surprise to me that when I returned from grabbing a laptop that the package of cupcakes had been removed from my desk.  I stopped in my tracks.  “Where are my cupcakes?”  There was silence and then a quiet giggle from the other side of the room. Alfred the Moon Cat.  I looked over and saw the package poorly hidden under a stack of papers on Napoleon's desk.

                Rolling my eyes, I snatched them off.  “Honestly,” I shook my head and tried to suppress a smile, “did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

They gaped at me until Napoleon finally spoke up.  “But…but there are enough for all of us!”

                I grinned.  “I realize that.  And maybe, if you’re good, you’ll get one.  But you’ll have to wait.”  And wait they did, until after lunch.  By that time, their ridiculously pouty faces and furtive glances became too much for me to handle, and I gave in.

                Even on our birthdays, when we expect to be the center of attention, when we expect everyone to celebrate “just me,” we are reminded that everyone else wants to be treated special too. Unless we are living in a cave or a cabin in the woods, there will always be someone who wants to “share in your experience.”  Sometimes you just have to give away your cupcakes.