“The griefs we cause ourselves cut deepest of all”

I bought the mix. I cracked the eggs. I mashed the flour and sugar. I even bought one for those plastic spoons that really aren’t spoons, but more like a knife without a point that are used for mixing. It was the first time I had made cupcakes. I poured the mix into the little individual cupcake napkin holders that I paid five dollars; solely because they had Dora the Explorer on them. After they were ready to be baked and I had preheated my oven to 350°F, I sat and waited for them to be ready. When they finally were, I used my dad’s oven-met in the style of a western Colt 45 pistol. I took them out and I ate them all. I couldn’t help it. My fear with making them was that everyone else would eat them and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy them. However, the opposite occurred. Yes they were good, but no one else got to see or taste them. The grief I caused myself was worse than could have been produced by anyone else.