I want to love you, Trophy Cupcakes. I truly do.
Despite the pick-up hassles, I found your Obama cupcakes (Obamaaaaah) both delicious and inspirational, just like our president.
And yes, I knew that dropping by for a dozen cupcakes on a Friday night at 7 was risky. Even when I saw that you were down to a handful of flavors, I resolved to be pleasant and make do.
But why did you allow--not just allow--encourage--that mean old lady behind me to jump the line and bogart 2 of the remaining 4 chocolate cupcakes?
Yes, I know turning on my heel and walking out was immature. I gave myself a good talking-to outside and came back to apologize. When I ran into the mean old lady exiting with her chocolatey treats I did not wrench them away from her, I did not curse at her or laugh at her double chins. I simply said, You should be ashamed of yourself and she agreed and quite meekly apologized.
So why were you so unhelpful when I came back to you, groveling and apologizing, and explained my sitch (birthday, poor planning, yesimanidiot)? Why did you tell me you were unable to take an order for one dozen assorted cupcakes for tomorrow? Why did you tell me instead to call your order line, and then when I went out to my phone to call said order line, why did you--the very same you--answer the phone and tell me the order line was closed? What kind of nitwittery operation are you running?
I want to love you, Trophy. You are beautiful and tasty, but oh so cold hearted. Next time I need my red velvet fix, I'm going to check out one of the new kids in town -- Kimberella perhaps, or Look, or even reliable old Macrina.