I remember sitting on the counter as a toddler while my mother made frosting for a cake. Now, I have seen pictures of this but I don’t think it was the same moment. It could be, but it wouldn’t quite make sense…well, you’ll see.

I was little and it was fun to sit on the counter. When mom stepped away to get something, I swiped a fingerful of frosting. I ate it fast because I didn’t want mom to see. I figured you weren’t supposed to do that. But, come on. It was frosting.

Later that evening, I had a rather shocking moment. Mom had frosted the round cake nice and smooth. As I looked at it on the dining room table (I could barely see it being as small as I was), I saw a fingerprint on it. Like a swipe. And I knew. I knew that was my fingerswipe. Somehow, it had survived all the mixing and frosting that mom had done and there it was for everyone to see. I was mortified.

I don’t remember much about the experience after that. I imagine I just kept quiet about the whole thing, or perhaps I told mom or dad, seeing as it was just fascinating that the darn swipe had survived. Even as a wee one, I could see the mysteries that exist in life.