Cake Conundrum

Sometimes a frog does something so weird, so random, so downright strange that you can do nothing but stare at him in amazement and wonder how in the world you could be dating someone who would do something like that.

Let's take the case of Cake Frog. I had been on a few dates with him, and things were going well. His only real flaw at this point seemed to be chronic extreme tardiness- we're talking 2 or 3 hours late for plans.

When I invited him over for dinner at my place with some friends, I begged him to be on time because I wanted him to make a good impression on my friends...

By which, of course, I mean The Roommates.

Hell hath no fury like roommates who don't like your new date.

He promised that he would be on time, even early. In addition, he promised that he would bring a homemade cake. He boasted about his secret recipe to making a delicious vegan banana-filled layer cake, which sounded intriguing, if not delicious, because really?

Vegan cake? It's like decaffeinated coffee- it works, but what's the point?

But I digress.

So, the big day finally comes. I get a call an hour before dinner from Cake Frog saying that he'll be a few minutes late because he is dropping his sister off at a friend's house and still needs to run home to get the cake.

Alright, I say. That's fine. He's helping out family, and he called in advance.

An hour passes. Then two. I call again. He's hit traffic and will be another hour.

Mind you he lives in Queens. Remember our geography lesson? There would have had to have been a 75 car pile up hit by a train on fire during a hail storm to keep someone in traffic for three hours.

I'm starting to get very nervous. Then he finally shows up

With a beautiful white cake box, inside of which was a perfectly decorated layer cake resting on a silver doily.

He apologized profusely for being late and immediately began trying to charm my roommates when Brunette asked what had made him so late (subtle, that one...)

"Oh, I had to drop my sister off at a friend's. And I was working so hard on this cake..."

Brunette stares at it and asks, as sweetly as she can, "Wow! You made that?"

"Yes," he grins proudly. "And there's no butter and no eggs."

"Amazing!" adds Blonde. "And what's inside?"

"Bananas" states Cake Frog.

When we finally slice into the cake, we discover that, not only is it WAY too fluffy to be vegan, but the filling is

Strawberries and Pineapple.

As soon as Cake Frog departs, the Roommates descend on the cake remains of the cake like buzzards.

"There is NO way he made that! It looks too nice!"

"He didn't even know what was in it!"

"He was three hours late and didn't even bother to bring a homemade cake?"

"And then OBVIOUSLY lied about it?"

"Why would someone do that?!?!"

Dear reader, rest assured that I did not stick around long enough to find out what would possess a person to do such a silly, silly thing...

The Aftermath

Luckily, our high school's Drama Club was also in New York that week, so we spent a lot of time running around the city with them. He largely ignored me, and I busied myself with volunteering to chaperone some of the kids to various tourist sites. I sent him back home with a kiss and the hope that we could figure out exactly what was going on once he was back at college and we had some time and space separating us from the awkwardness of the situation.

We spoke on the phone a few times over the next week. He blamed his behavior on stress, feeling uncomfortable with a new place and new situation...frankly, everything except alien abduction.

As I was hanging up the phone after one of our talks, I said "I love you", as I had plenty of times before. And he did not respond.

Then he didn't answer or return my calls for the next few days.

Then I received a Facebook message from a friend of mine who also happened to be one of Broadway's housemates. In the message, she expressed her condolences on Broadway and I's breakup.

Wait....

What?!?!?!? When did we break up?!?!?

These were my first words to my dear, sweet friend when I called her and demanded to know what Broadway had told her. She hemmed and hawed and insisted that I talk to him directly.

Of course, he ignored my call, but I left a message demanding that we talk NOW and, low and behold, I received a call about an hour later.

At first, he refused to acknowledge that he had told his friends at school that we had broken up. When directly confronted, he hemmed and hawed and finally, FINALLY (I'll spare you all of the details of this three hour call, dear readers) admitted that

You (and my roommates, and my brother, and...well...any of my friends or family members who had met him) guessed it...he's gay.

I know, I know...I should have known. Everyone else did. But what could I do? He was popular, attractive, friendly, intelligent, fun...and he really, genuinely seemed to like me.

Right up until the point when he decided to leave me lying half naked in a pool of my own naivete because he had a mutual male friend of ours who was equally unclothed and willing back at school.

To be fair, I didn't find out about that until much later.

It also took me a while to find out that my roommates had used a gay male friend of ours to try to seduce him over spring break to find out if he really was gay or not. At first, I was upset by this, and if I had written this post a year ago, I probably would have suggested to anyone in a similar situation to tell your friend that the person she's dating isn't *ahem* right for her.

But, you know? I wouldn't have listened if they had. I probably just would have been angry and resentful. And I might have lost wonderful friends who were helping in the best way they knew how.

Which brings me to the morals of this tale:

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's almost certainly a duck.

and

Good friends are always there fore you, whereas boyfriends my hop away at any moment.

The Spring Break from Hell, Part III

Later that evening, after a sullen dinner at New York's famous Stardust Diner (a 50's themed restaurant featuring waiters/waitresses who sing and dance),

...oh, why was it sullen? Because I refused to let Broadway pay for dinner, and I suppose he felt emasculated...

we got back to the dorm, and he said that he was going to go down to one of the practice rooms to "sing off some steam"...

Remember, we met in Drama club, and he was a theatre major in school.

And yes, my dorm had practice rooms. I'm not even going to lie and say that wasn't a major factor in my college decision making.

Anyway, back to lil' ol' me, alone in my bedroom while Broadway was belting out showtunes downstairs to repair his damaged manhood. I went to my dresser and reached deep down into the bottom of my underwear drawer, where I had hidden a lacy white bra and panty set that I had found in the sale bin at Victoria's Secret the month before, and a condom that I had snagged from the student health center- if I recall correctly, it might even have been flavored.

I snuck into the bathroom and donned my lacy ensemble. I sucked in my gut, touched up my mascara and put on some sexy red lipstick purchased just for the occasion. Then I decided that the lipstick was a bit much and blotted it down to almost nothing before applying my usual pink gloss.

I brushed and touseled my hair, applied some glitter lotion to the curve of my breasts (I had read in Cosmo that it makes your cleavage look better), and smiled at the sexy girl in the mirror who would, soon enough, become a woman.

After a quick glance to see if any of my suitemates were lurking in the hallway, I dashed into my bedroom and arranged myself on my bed in a way (probably suggested by Cosmo) that I hoped would maximize my curves while minimizing my, well, less-desirable curves. I had just finished fanning my hair across the pillow and placing the condom in an accessible, yet not too obvious position on my dresser when I heard the door open.

I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep as I listened to Broadway's footsteps approach the bed. I heard them stop and opened my eyes slowly, trying to feign both sleepiness and surprise.

As Broadway's form appeared in my vision, I glanced up at him in what I hoped was a seductive manner and smiled.

He glared back and sighed.

"Move over. And please cover up. We obviously need to talk."


...


...





Go ahead. Listen to as many types of crickets as you need to before continuing. I'll understand, because I was hearing nothing but crickets and the sound of shame flushing over my cheeks as I pulled myself into as tiny a ball as I could and cocooned myself in my comforter.

Broadway then proceeded to explain how he was sorry for the way he reacted, he was just so shocked because he wasn't ready to take our relationship that far, blah blah blah. All I could really hear was the sound of my own voice berating myself for being so stupid to think that anyone would want to sleep with me and for being so damn needy and for wasting all of that money on my sexy underwear, even if it was on sale...

Yes, even in moments of shame and guilt (hell...ESPECIALLY in moments of shame and guilt), I remain a stereotypical Jew.

Next thing I knew, Broadway put his arm around my shoulders and placed my head on his chest. I suppose it was supposed to be a consolation prize. I suppose I should have been happy for any physical intimacy at all. But all I could do was lie still and try not to cry my girlish tears for the woman I was supposed to become with the man I thought I loved.

The Spring Break from Hell, Part II

The anxiously awaited day finally arrived- at T-minus 4 hours to Broadway's arrival, I went to my favorite salon to get my nails "did" (as we say down here beneath the Mason-Dixon), fixed my hair and makeup just so, and put on a brand new outfit made of one of Broadway's favorite fabrics in his favorite color.

I took the train to Newark Airport and nervously played with my hair and re-applied lipstick until his plane arrived. My heart was leaping from my chest as I imagined our reunion: I would run straight into his arms, where he would lift me into a passionate embrace and treat me to the type of kiss that makes cameras pan and spin.

When I saw his lithe form walking across the terminal, I prepared for my running leap,

then quickly backpedaled as I saw him in deep conversation with an "old friend" he had run into on the plane. When they finally completed their conversation, he obligingly turned his attention to me and gave me a sweet, yet completely undeserving of creative camera angles, kiss.

We chatted and held hands as we waited for his luggage, got in the cab, and drove back to my dorm, where Broadway promptly curled up on the couch we had set up for him and fell asleep.

"Alright, that's fine", I thought. "He's had a long day. We'll make up for it tomorrow!"

For you see, dear readers, Broadway was sleeping on the couch that night out of respect for Blonde Roommate (yep...we were randomly assigned as freshman roommates and have been attached at the hip ever since!). However, Blonde would be gone for the next few nights and had graciously given her consent for Broadway to sleep in her bed.

I hope I don't need to explain the thought process behind that.

So, the next morning, I woke Broadway up with the best wake-up call a man can get:

Tickets to The Lion King!

What did you think I was going to say?

Anyway, he was thrilled, and we had a wonderful time at the show, which he enjoyed immensely. All he could talk about the rest of the day was how much fun he had and how awesome I was. I wouldn't have been able to wipe the smile off my face with an ice skate blade.

Until I was.

After the show, I decided to take Broadway ice skating. We had tried to go a few times back home, but it had never worked out, so I figured this was a perfect opportunity. I am a decently okay figure skater (read: I can do basic jumps and spins, but they ain't pretty), and was looking forward to a romantic, hand-in-hand skate while I showed him the ropes.

Little did I know that he was a competitive roller-blader as a kid. He jumped on the ice at full speed and never even glanced back as I sullenly practiced my spins and jumps.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Really, Sexless? This is the Spring Break from Hell? I'll admit it's not picture perfect, but come on..."

Well, put yourself in the mindset of a lonely, virginal college freshman who has spent a large sum of cash to fly your long-distance boyfriend up to visit you, and all he has done the entire time is act standoffish. Wouldn't you be a little pissed?

Well, I was. But I wasn't giving up yet. Remember...this evening, the bedroom would be all mine, and I had quite an attention-grabber up my sleeve.

Unfortunately, I was the one whose attention would get a whiplash-inducing grab.