A Thousand Splendid Buns

True manliness.

I’ve got a bun in the oven. Three buns, actually. And they’re not so much buns as they are loaves of bread, but for the purposes of maximum confusion lets call them bagels. So I’ve got three muffins in the oven, and I have to say there is no better feeling than wafting that baked goods aroma into your nostrils with a pink-laced oven mitt (you know, the one that goes perfectly with your pink-laced apron and pink-laced hair ribbon). What? So, just because I’m a guy, I’m not allowed to bake and wear pink and do my hair up with fancy ribbons? Shame on you!  I’ll have you know that I am a confident, strapping, red-blooded male who enjoys…foot…game. Footgame, right? Or is it füt-gamé? The thing with the whistles and the grunting and that handsome announcer man with his perfect hair and manners? Sure, I might be elbow-deep in cupcake batter while my boyfriends (friends who are boys; take it easy, Wife) are huddled around the television like a pack of wild dogs waiting for someone to kick a touchdown, but that doesn’t mean I’m less of a man, right? All I’m saying, is that if putting on a wig, mascara, lipstick, foundation, eye-shadow, brassiere, garter belt, leggings, slip, sundress, high-heels, earrings, necklace, and diamond ring and doing some hardcore baking for the better part of a Friday night is wrong, then I don’t want to be right! Competitive cross-dressing baking happens to be the fastest growing sport in America today, second only to NASCAR. [beep, beep, beep] Oops! That’s my cinnamon rolls! [sound of high-heels on linoleum]