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If a man is lucky, he may go through his entire life never being put to the test. But for many men, it has been and remains to this day, a moment that can negatively impact him for years, if not the rest of his life. It's that moment when she asks, "Honey, do these jeans make my butt look big?" Lord help you, my friend!
Many young men have been permanently scorn for incorrectly answering the question. Unfortunately, I'm still not sure there is a correct answer. My best advice, if you see her standing in front of a mirror, twisting from left to right trying to catch her backside, leave the room immediately. Nay, run from the room. Go scoop the cat little, dust off the old partial cans of paint in the garage, rearrange the condiments in the refrigerator door. Go find something to do and fast before she asks because this quiz weaves a treacherous web from which you cannot escape.
I heard a tale about one ole boy who answered, "I don't think it's the jeans, honey; it's your big behind making the britches look that way." Legend had it; he never showed up for work on Monday. As a matter of fact, he was never seen or heard from again – and they never found his body. So be vigilant to never get caught in such a situation where you could be asked.
If you innocently roam into a situation, and the question is asked, do not look her in the eye. Instead, act as if you didn't hear her. (Selective hearing; we'll cover that another time) For example, pick up a newspaper and say, "Honey, there's a big sale at the mall, would you like to go? I can hold your purse for you while you shop."
Wait, don't ask that! She could take that to mean you're saying the pants don't look good on her, and she should go find some jeans that fit. I just don't know what to tell you, friend, other than, there is no correct answer. If you say the jeans look great on her, she'll assume you're patronizing – and woe to the man who answers honestly. You're in danger at this point. It's like walking on thin ice and hearing a cracking noise. Not even running away will help.
Personally, I am very fortunate to have never been asked this question – at least not by my wife, but not long ago, I asked myself.
I was standing on the scale in the bathroom – the scale gave me an unflattering number I didn't particularly like. I caught myself looking in the mirror, twisting left to right, then finally concluded, "It must be these jeans."
It's hard to maintain a healthy weight, especially for someone who likes to bake as much as I do. With only two of us in the house, a whole pie or a cake is a lot of desserts. I usually share these desserts with friends and neighbors, lest I eat the entire thing myself, and my jeans end up fitting too tight.
I wondered if there was a way to make a smaller cake without messing up the proportions.
Doing a little research, I discovered a six-inch, round cake pan holds precisely one-half the volume as a nine-inch. Since I make my cakes from scratch, not a boxed mix, I could easily cut the recipe in half. So, my search for these more practical pans was underway. I had no idea there were so many choices.
I found cheap pans that were only a few dollars each – cheap being the operative word. Others were up to thirty dollars each; I wasn’t spending sixty bucks for a pair of cake pans. I could get good quality pans for five dollars each, but had to buy them in quantities of fifty. I finally found a good set of two for twenty-five dollars, including shipping. It was more than I wanted t spend, but it was an excellent set, and besides, they came in a really cool box.
When the pans arrived, I opened them; they were so shiny and new; I set the sturdy, cool box with its hinged lid to the side for storing and protecting my new bakeware. Now I had to decide what flavor I would bake first. I stacked the two pans imagining what size the cake would be, "That's exactly the size of the top from our wedding cake."
Our wedding cake was awesome; Jan from Vanilla Bean in Two Harbors made it. It was beautifully decorated in fall colors with real orchids from Anderson Floral – and talk about delicious! Rather than the usual white or chocolate cake, ours was a spice cake with maple frosting – perfect for an autumn wedding. "That's it! I'll make a spice cake with maple frosting."
The cake turned out so well that I made another; the next one was dark chocolate, then a third chocolate cake! Yum. We (I) ate the whole spice cake (Melissa got one piece) and gave the chocolate cakes away – well, I kept a couple of slices and gave the rest away. I was having a blast making these little cakes.
A couple of days later, I stood in the kitchen admiring my new little pans while getting ready to bake another cake. I held them up. Laughing, I asked, "Do these pans make my butt look big."
From the bathroom, I heard the scale yell back in reply, "Not yet, but they're going to if you don't stop putting cakes in them." I was aghast!
I marched to the bathroom and picked up the mouthy scale, "That was not the right answer, little mister!" I scolded, then tossed the weighing device into the dark cabinet under the sink. "You can just sit in there and think about what you've said." I closed the doors and returned to the kitchen.
On my way out, I overheard the scale asking some ole boy, "What'd you get locked up for?"