Bake this dough girl

Bake This Dough Girl

I probably should have shoved a muffin in her face right then and there. It would have been simple, the entire act would last for only a few seconds, depending on her reaction. I don’t honestly know what was holding my hand back from curling my strong sausages and pulverizing the crap out of that mini dessert and boldly smashing it across her flawless, constructed-by-mommy’s-plastic-surgeon nose. I’m guessing it was my fear of actually standing out. You know, big girl making a big move? Sadly, today was not the day my constant desire to humiliate this this prim and proper Jenna woman was going happen. Normally, when I am in the back of my bakery slaving away at a batch of fresh devil possessed cookies, she just so happens to walk in with HIM tangled around each other like two monkey’s during storm season. At least they can get around one another. If anyone tried that with me they would need to be born with elastic limbs. I’m not making this up, I swear. My doctor implies these ideas, just in a more gentle approach. You might ask how I even know this Jenna. Unfortunately, I went to the same college in Michigan as her. I went to get a business degree, she went to get a degree in partying. Or at least, that is the field of expertise that she spent the most time studying for. She lived on the same floor as me, and most of my school work was done in the library, because heaven forbid I study in my dorm. Trying to concentrate with her music blaring all the time would be more work than my studies alone. We never had a very friendly relationship from the very beginning. I don’t honestly know what I ever did that deserved her atrocious personality. I don’t understand where she picked up a sweet man like the one she always brings into my cafe. I don’t even know his name.

Now, cut back to the bakery. Considering how many times a week they come in here, you would expect that she’d have blown up past a size zero. I could fit one leg where her entire waist goes. My God, they just came in again. Shouldn’t high metabolisms be outlawed? I’ve seen Jenna scarf down 3 muffins in one sitting. You know what I eat during my lunch break? A salad that tastes like a wheat field. Wheat. Field. Appetizing huh? That’s what I thought. Huh. Shocker. She orders the coffee drink with the most calories in it. Um.. excuse me Miss. Cellulite is calling, they want to make a date with you. I might sound envious, but at least this chick can get a date. With a man like THAT. You know it’s bad when your mother calls you once a week to see how the dating life is going for a 27 year old.

“How is eharmony going honey?”

“I don’t have an account on eharmony, I believe in real connection kind of love, thank you very much.”

“Oh Camille, it’s the Internet age! You’re not getting any younger, or any smaller...”

Yeah. That’s basically our phone call every Saturday night while I’m flipping through recipes out of sheer boredom.

One Monday morning I feel a breeze roll in as someone whips open the door with an unmeasurable amount of force that I might drop the pan of souffles I’m lugging out of the oven. I’m not over exaggerating when I say I am impressed by the strength that Jenna has inside of her blond 100 pound bodice. I always know when it’s her. It is not hard to hear the clicks and clacks of her towering, unbelievably uncomfortable looking stilettos. I turn around hesitantly, knowing I have to take their order but I don’t even want to look at them together. It’s makes me want to dig in the garbage and find the perfectly baked scone I took a bite of by accident.
“What can I get you?” I say with absolutely no excitement present. As you can tell I am not actress material, seeing that I can’t even put on a fake happy face to my goldfish.
“The usual. Oh and don’t forget to lay off the whipped cream this time. Some people actually try to watch their weight in this town.”
Yeah, and you’re not one of them you blonde, 5,000 calorie a day bimbo.
“Of course. I’ll remember.” I never knew swallowing your words would leave you feeling like you’re going to choke.
“And what can I get you?” I turn to him not even knowing why I bothered to ask. I already know what his response will be. Blueberry muffin with a cup of coffee and vanilla cream, no sugar.
“Blueberry muffin with a cup of coffee and vanilla cream please. and no sugar for me.
Thanks.”
Called it.
“Coming right up!” My first chipper response all morning. I ring up their order while they choose a place to seat themselves. As I turn my back to them, I hear faint whispers escaping their mouths.
“Why do you have to be so mean to her?”
“I’m not being mean to her, I was just being truthful. Besides, she is not immune to health food, you know. I mean, LOOK at her. She immerses herself in carbs.”
“It’s her bakery cafe.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“Well, restrain yourself.”
Okay, my cork is about to burst. Yet all I do about it is ignore it. Just like I do every single time I hear whispers about my body. It’s all the same comments anyways. Pretend their words are the wind. They will eventually die down. Motto of my life.
I bring their orders to them, trying to be as graceful as possible. But am I able to do such a thing? Of course not. When I am just about to reach their table, I lose my balance slightly, and half of her precious coffee splashes onto my glistening floors. As soon as it happens, I rapidly begin to apologize.
“ Oh, I’m so sorry about that! I will make another one for you.” This was what I thought was a fairly decent and civilized response for my clumsiness. This however, was not how Jenna interpreted these sort of misfortunes.
“Umm.. excuse me. Didn’t your mother ever teach you about common courtesy? If you’re already going to disgrace us with your unsightly jelly rolls, at least respect my annoyance of my drink being splattered across your floor and onto my shoes that cost more than your cafe.”
“Jenna!” Her hubby exclaimed in my defense.
“What? She needs to learn some valuable life skills, one of them being pleasing paying customers, which so far she is not doing so well.” Well, now isn’t that rude.
Surprisingly, she decides to open her gargantuan mouth one more time.
“And another thing, from what I can tell, there is too many blueberries in my muffin. It would pleasure me greatly if you would grab me a different one, and at the same time you’d be giving yourself a mini workout. Your back-end buns will thank you for it.”

Okay. I can handle snide comments about my jelly rolls. I always ignore the words, “thunder thighs.” I can easily look past remarks about my chubby fingers and my ever expanding waist line. But when someone decides to be courageous and talk about my ass, now that is just hitting too far below the belt, literally.

Like I said, I should have just shoved that muffin in her face right then in there. I really should have. But here is what I did instead. I turned my back to her and the speechless man candy of hers, walked behind the counter and she turned back properly in her seat with a sneer on her face. Now you are probably saying, “What are you doing, are you crazy? do something!” But just wait. This does not end here. As I am standing behind my display of goodies, I wrap those big sausages of mine around a cupcake, and walk towards her. I want to do it. I really do. I get close enough to her where I could do it. but all she says to me when I finally reach her table is,
“I asked for a blueberry muffin, not a cupcake coated in goop.”
I think I might have blacked out throughout the whole process. because in the next 10 seconds which felt like forever, were all a hazy blur. When I actually realized what the heck I was doing, my meaty glove of a hand is smashing the cupcake I was holding right into her perfectly sculpted face. Okay, so I didn’t use a muffin, because a cupcake seemed way more suitable. I finally released the frosted mess from my grip and watched as her reaction became absolute horror. Globs of sugary confection leaked down her cheeks and onto her now stained cashmere sweater. I believed I was going to feel immediate remorse, but it felt rejuvenating, as if all my anger at people’s hurtful words were released when I destroyed a cupcake on this woman. Her immediate reaction was the most high pitched girl scream known to mankind. She shot out of her chair so fast I didn’t even have time to blink. Her boy toy stands up as well, just a lot slower than his companion. As she starts heading for the door, she begins her rampage.

“OH, I am NEVER coming in here ever again! You just lost a paying customer, you plump little twit! If my nose is at all wrecked, you can expect a call from my lawyer! You hear me? BIG law suit! C’mon let’s go.” She squeals to her man, who is still standing in the same position he has been in this whole time. Even after she gives him a death stare, he acts as though his feet have gum stuck underneath, and he’s not going anywhere.
“Well, are you coming? Let’s get out of here!” She screeches.
He never once looks back at her. He just continues to stare at me in shock, as if he never seen anyone fight back at Jenna before.
“C’MON!”
He finally speaks up. “You know what Jenna, I’m going to sit back down and enjoy my muffin.” After he has finished his sentence, she storms out with a gusto. After she is gone, he walks over to me and sticks out his hand. “I’m Gary by the way.”
I place my hand in his, relieved to know his hand is actually bigger than mine. “Camille.”
“Nice to meet you Camille.” He says with a wide smile, and for once, I don’t feel overweight.
New motto of my life.
People’s words hurt like a bee sting, but all you need is a newspaper roll and whack the crap outta that bee and show ‘em who’s boss.