Perhaps there are people for whom every simple task does not turn into a saga that pits ideology against ambition and self against world; people who engage in minimal wailing, gnashing of teeth, and adventures with dry-active yeast on Sunday nights. Maybe these people exist, maybe they have blogs, maybe you should start reading them.
In the meantime, I will be contemplating the role of cinnamon rolls in the workplace.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that women are never supposed to bake for coworkers. Read any career-oriented literature aimed at women and you will learn that bringing baked goods to the office–along with crying, sleeping with the boss, and discussing any health problem beyond the sniffles–is strictly verboten.
But my workplace, falling slightly afield of the corporate model, is a bit more egalitarian when it comes to things culinary. Some of us cook, some of us bake, some of us do neither, and some of us do both while drinking–but the camps have very little to do with gender. In any case, it has already been well-documented right here that when it comes to food-preparing-and-sharing, my motives bend less soulful and more egomaniacal.
Thus I choose to believe that The Great Cinnamon Roll Misfortune of 2011, which is unfolding as I write and will likely keep me awake until the wee hours of tomorrow, is actually a calculated professional power-play on behalf of myself and employed women everywhere.
Also tomorrow is my boss’s birthday, and somebody else already claimed cupcakes.