tiny things are always pretty

I’m people watching. Drinking an iced mocha that surprisingly has cinnamon in it. And eyeing the people that make up the ever changing line. It’s a mix of khaki and hipster. Baseball hats and tattoos. The universal flip flop is ever present. (It’s the official shoe of Seattle.) This cafe is weird in two ways. One. It’s a Mexican-decorated cafe that servers up Cuban specialties and is owned by a French man. I’ll pause here for you to reread that.

Pausing.

And two. The barista looks like he should be featured on America’s Most Wanted. I’m not sure what his crime would most likely be. I don’t think adding cinnamon to iced mochas is anything that would lead to a life on the run. He looks like a bank robber. Or maybe someone who kidnapped a trophy wife for a few hundred thousand dollars. No one got hurt, but now he’s living out of a 1979 Chevy Impala and nervously smoking cigarettes while looking out his motel room window.

I’ve never been that dangerous.

And here’s proof: I kinda want to bake this weekend. Baking, by nature, is not a dangerous activity. Even whipping up a cake version of Piss Christ or a giant penis doesn’t elevate baking to a dangerous art. It smells too nice and there is something meditative about creaming butter and sugar together. Well. And then there is frosting. Butercream can only make people happy. It’s metabolically impossible for frosting to make you cry. Even if left out in the rain. That song was total bullshit. So I’m trying to think of a cupcake design that turns my crank and is G-rated so I can bring a batch to work on Monday. So no boobs. No butts. I gotta be appropriately creative. I will turn to this girl for inspiration - she is the world’s premiere baker of video game themed cakes. Absolutely amazing! Her house must smell really really good. And I bet she has a chorus of eager friends always sitting outside her front door.

Smelling in the smell. Anticipating the frosting.

I was worried for a few days. Maybe almost a week. WebMD got me. It was Saturday morning and I was putting on mascara like I do pretty much every morning and huh. One pupil is bigger than the other. Trying to think back to every eye I’ve ever gazed into, does this just happen? Or is it weird?

OH.

It’s weird all right. All the causes were terrible and the one I shared the most symptoms with was a brain tumor. I didn’t really think that I had a brain tumor. But I didn’t really think I didn’t either. I waited about a week and that eye got a little red and I finally sucked it up and made an appointment. Not a brain tumor. Not all that unusual. But instead, it’s an autoimmune thingy that can be no big deal or something to keep and eye on but the big news was I’m not dying. At least not from my odd sized pupils. So whew.

Fun links to say goodbye!

If you want to see my eyeball of near-death: click here.
If you want to see world's best hamster: click here.
If you want to see a bunny reading a book: click here.