Big Ugly Man Doll

Dobos Torte

This evening we feted the Reigning Queen of Pink with the final celebration of the royal birthday.  I made, since I was instructed to do so and I’m good at following orders, a Dobos Torte, which is a multi-layered confection with chocolate.  There were hamburgers, there were mushroom popovers, there was beer, there was a damned piano about which the less said the better, there was a good time had by all. 

Before the cake but following the presents, however, there was a notable absence of Birthday Girl.  I eventually went up to her room to find her, only to find her crying softly to herself.  I tried to jolly out of her what had her upset, but there was nothing she could quite describe.  I chalked it up to the existential horror of becoming older, which doesn’t depress most people until they’re in their 40s at least, but then my children have always been overachievers, and 10 isn’t really too young to be horrified at the universal finality of life, is it?  It could also have been sugar, or exhaustion, or – all too likely – hormones.  Regardless, I had her laughing in a few minutes and we went back downstairs for birthday Dobos Torte. 

Following the party, once the Very Clever Grandparents and the Very Blonde Aunt (the RQoP could be her clone!) had left for the evening, I essayed another sally into the question of what had her so down earlier.  I let her know that people change, that we all get older, and that she might not always be the Reigning Queen of Pink.  She might, in time, become the reigning queen of some other color, or she might start rocking some other element of her life just as much as she rocks the pink thing now – and that’s OK.  I told her that I might not always be a Big Ugly Man Doll.

“You will be to me!” she said, and hugged me. 

Well, damn.  Hard to look like a big, tough, ugly man doll when you’re fighting back tears. 

Thanks, kid – that’s better than getting the cake right, every time!

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