Baby Bundt for the Soul

Yesterday after hours of Christmas shopping I finally waved my white flag in the battle of "I Want Sweets." Reluctantly I entered the Corner Bakery and sheepishly ordered a chocolate baby bundt cake. I rendered my coffee the perfect shade of creamy caramel and de-layered into a cozy booth for one. My eyes began to wander around, taking in all the people as I carefully cut and ate each section of my chocolatey, seemingly comforting cake, assuring myself this would be the last sugar I'd have in 2013.

The hustly, bustly holiday people were packed into this joint. Some talking, some texting. The awkward girlfriend eating her sandwich with one hand covering her mouth as she alternated chewing and nervously giggling uncontrollably while her aloof companion scarfed down his food. There was the 50-something-year-old man with a newspaper under his arm waiting impatiently for his to-go order to be brought out. Two cute older ladies splitting a sandwich and a muffin. A mom trying to feed her 4 kids under the age of 6. Methodically...a well oiled machine. Likely soaking up every last minute of "getting out" before returning to what we mom's affectionately refer to as "Home."

And then there was me. 

The overweight girl in a corner booth eating her big-enough-for-3-or-4 "baby" bundt cake. Every last bite of it. Peering out from behind a book wondering if anyone was reading me the way I was reading them. 

My thoughts were jolted when an annoyingly symmetrical, upside-down-heart-shaped, hard-as-a-rock, perky little booty covered in black tights (which are apparently the same thing as pants now) pranced past me.

Wow. Just wow. I'm sure my eyes were bugging out of my head. So much flooding my mind, If only...how in the world...stop STARING!... 

As she sat down in the booth just in front of me,  wondered what it would be like to have that bum (what Glory would call it) as I used my fork to smash and lift up the surviving micro-crumbs of my baby bundt. Guess I'll never know. Ha. 

My daydreaming was once again interrupted when I over-heard a server ask the table behind me if they had ordered a cup of chicken noodle soup. 

Chicken noodle soup? 

Who comes to a place like Corner Bakery and orders a CUP of chicken noodle soup? Do they not KNOW about the Club Panini? The combos that include salad, soup, and a sandwich? The Maple Pecan Squares or the Monster Cookies? Do they not fear they will be stark-raving HUNGRY when they leave if they only have a cup of chicken noodle soup? No coffee? Really? I feel kind of sorry for that person. Who does that?

No one was claiming it. I assumed a mistake had been made. It was surely an add-on to the mom of 4's order. Sometimes the kids eat more than you think they will, ya know? 

But no. The server moved past me, glanced to the left and stopped. 

Booty Girl. 

Seeing that her plastic number was a match to the singular cup of brothy nothingness the server gently slid said nothingness in front of little black bum lady. I couldn't contain myself as I actually let out a brief Lol.Of course! This is exactly who orders a cup of chicken noodle soup at Corner Bakery. 

In all seriousness. I know better than to judge a book by its cover. Or a lady by her bum. For all I know she could have had a virus. And for all those people who were reading me at the Corner Bakery know, I could have eaten like a tight-booty gal today.