Dear Dreamy Lady Who Makes Her Own Homemade Sprinkles:
First, let me start of by saying that I am not judging you and your decision to make homemade sprinkles. I love crafty, homemaker-y, DIYish projects from making my own pasta from scratch to becoming a convert of the homemade laundry detergent, but it has never once occurred to me to make my own homemade sprinkles.
I woke up bright and too early and turned on my phone to get my first Pinterest fix of the day. And there you were. Mocking me. “How to Make Homemade Sprinkles.” Out of morbid curiosity, I clicked. This was the ultimate click-bait. How the fuck could I not click? I had to see who you were, mysterious Homemaker of the Year.
The first paragraph is spot on:
“This is one of those projects you might just want to keep to yourself. At the very least you’ll probably get a quite a few quizzical looks, and some of your friends will actually wonder if all your cylinders are firing.”
At least you have acknowledged that this is one of those things that is going to cause a line of questioning that may or may not end in “How much wine have you had today, ma’am?”
But as I read on, the mockery that was bubbling up in me started to melt away. Nay, transform. The mockery became curiosity. By the end of the post, I was overwhelmed with desire.
Desire to know what life is like once you make you own homemade sprinkles. What do you feel when you can walk into your kitchen and know that behind one of those cupboard doors, are the sprinkles you took hours to craft by hand in a pretty glass jar because after you spend a fraction of your life making fucking sprinkles, you sure as shit aren’t going to be storing them in a tomato-sauce stained disposable plastic container with a dishwasher-warped lid. That sprinkly shit is going to be placed delicately a perfectly sized mason jar, perhaps with a bow around it (burlap, probably)? How does that feel to know they sit there in the kitchen, just waiting for you to use them at the right moment… a tea party for new neighbors? A baby shower you throw for your college roommate? Cupcakes for the church bake sale?
What is the feeling like when your husband gets home at the end of the day and asks what you did today? I spent seven hours creating the perfect consistency and color of sprinkle batter and then painstakingly piped it onto waxed paper to harden overnight so I can chop it up tomorrow. “Oh, not much. Just knocked out some things around the house that I’ve been meaning to get to” you say instead. But in your heart, you know. You know exactly what you did today.
What is life like after you have made your own homemade sprinkles? Do you suddenly feel like you can conquer anything that comes your way? Because I sure as shit think you probably can. Train for a marathon after a
ten-year brief hiatus from fitness? Sure! Potty-train twins while having a newborn? Bring it, bitches. Knit an ironic and adorable moose-head for your wall? Absofuckinglutely.
You made homemade fucking sprinkles. You can do anything.
Is this how it feels? A sense of empowerment? A secret you silently carry around because you’re smart enough to know how pretentious and sanctimonious it would come off if you happened to mention at your toddlers weekly playdate that you have started to make your own sprinkles? A knowledge that you seriously can do anything with the right amount of patience and counter-space?
I bet that’s how it feels. And, Woman who Makes Her Own Sprinkles, please, again know that I’m not judging. I am in fact envious. I want to feel that way too. I want to feel that all-powerful. You ARE super woman.
Love and Adoration,
*I’m sure there are men out there who have or will make their own sprinkles–sprinkles are obviously equal-opportunity. But in my minds eye, all I can see is a tall-ish, lean-ish, perfectly coiffed and Boden-bedecked woman, who doesn’t pee when she laughs and always finds time for a pedicure.