When you are raising teenage boys, a point comes when you have to stop pretending that fart jokes aren't funny, boobies aren't hilarious and whoopee cushions are inappropriate for social gatherings. In other words, you have to admit that part of being an adult is actually embracing your immature side.
Which is why I agreed to frost Jack's birthday cake.
A week ago, Jake came tearing into the house announcing that he had decided to make his best friend Jack a boob birthday cake for his next visit to Orono. He then asked me, the resident baking genius, just how one makes a boob cake. "Get a boob pan," I replied.
The next day, Jake and his best friend showed up with cake mix and frosting determined to make a "practice" boob. They didn't want to buy the cake pan...they seemed to think they could "carve" a boob out of cake. It wasn't pretty.
Tuesday I came home from work to find both boys back at it, with boob pan in hand. Filled with strawberry cake mix, they baked a lovely set of boobs and baked a "torso" out of a white cake mix. Which is where I came into this ordeal.
Having failed at their first boob attempt, Jake and Nick begged me to frost their next set of boobs. I could have feigned adultness and told them I am above frosting a "boob" cake, that my time is better spent on "adult" pursuits. But, I'll admit it, I wanted to say I frosted a boob cake.
So Wednesday I spent an hour frosting, then smoothing, then re-smoothing, then nippling, the boob cake. Because sometimes being a grown up means giggling with the boys about boobs.