Mykal Burns

Grown Up Decisions

We all (most all of us, anyway) make decisions everyday. Lots of them. Whether it’s the choice between getting up with the first alarm or the fifth tap of the snooze bar, the choice between giving voice to your internal monologue or keeping your job, or any of a multitude of other choices, we’re usually making decisions at breakneck speed.

It is just a fact of life that the ability to make those choices expands greatly once you become an adult. As a kid, many of the choices you would like to make are decided for you by the adults in your life; mostly parents.

When I was a kid, I would occasionally tell my mom that I wanted to have dessert first. The answer was always no.

“When you’re a grown-up,” she would say, “you can do whatever you like.”

Whether I’ve grown up or not is a debate for another time, but I have most certainly reached the age of majority; I am definitely an adult. Now I do whatever I like.

Thus, I would like to show you yesterday’s lunch.

That’s it. This Strawberry Shortcake and a bottle of sparkling water. It was delicious.

By Burns!

More fun than anyone I know. Probably more than anyone you know, too.

36 replies on “Grown Up Decisions”

That looks tasty. My mom used to always tell me that when I was out working on my own and making my own money, I could buy all the toys I wanted with it. Now I have a healthy collection of legos, transformers, and remote control cars. To say nothing of the completely out of control video games. Sometimes the difference between men and boys is *not* the price of the toys. :)

Forgive me for entering grumpy old man mode, but enjoy it while you can. When you get older that stuff goes straight to your ever expanding waistline. Eat one for me while you’re at it, I’ll be over to the side *cough* enjoying *cough* my yogurt and granola.

This reminds me of when my big sis moved out and got an apartment of her own. She made a big show out of drinking milk from the carton whenever Mom came to visit.

I live by this dictum: “Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.”

I had ice cream for dinner yesterday. Granted, it was a single scoop, but that’s all I wanted. And because I’m a self-supporting adult, I could have it!

When each of my kids was old enough, I revealed to her or him the great secret of being an adult: you never really grow up. You may grow old, but you don’t grow up.

I waited for years for maturity and responsibility to develop in me, and it never did. I finally gave up and accepted that I’ll always be sixteen inside.

But with a half century under my belt (and sagging over it, too), I’ve also learned that it doesn’t really matter. On my worst, most irresponsible days I haven’t killed anyone, poisoned a river, collapsed an economy, or burned a city. So I think I’ve earned the right to eat dessert first.

Whenever I start grumbling about “being an adult” I always try to think of something that’s awesome about it. Dessert whenever I want it is usually the only thing I can think of.

@ Dave H
I’m really glad to hear that someone did that. When I was a kid I actually thought you changed inside when you became an adult, like the way a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. Boy, was I surprised.

That is a most gorgeous confection. I seldom have the inner capacity for a thing like that after eating a sensible meal, so of course the only sensible thing is to make that the meal.

Isn’t being a grown-up great?

Seriously, one of the stories told about Lyman Spitzer was that he always ate dessert first. Lyman? Well, he was the dude that had a idea to put a big telescope in Earth orbit back in 1954 (I think). You know, back before Sputnik and Gemini and whatnot. Amazing fellow – they named the big infrared orbital telescope that launched after Hubble after him.
Truly amazing guy.
And he ate dessert first.

That is _not_ a Strawberry Shortcake. It appears to be a delicious confection, which I’d eat in a minute (or fifteen), but a Real Strawberry Shortcake consists of a small (but not _too_ small) “cake” made with Bisquick+sugar, sliced horizontally, with a filling and covering of quartered & mashed strawberries, and a topping of as much whipped-cream (+ a little sugar & vanilla) as can be piled on without toppling over, crowned with a whole strawberry. Period. That’s been my definition for nigh unto 80 years, now, and I’m sticking with it.

Oh, yeah, while we’re at it… Real Watermelon has seeds, as does Real Rye Bread.

@#20 Don: I can’t disagree with you. It’s only been half as long for me, but that has always been my definition of Strawberry Shortcake, as well. Yesterday’s lunch was named by the pastry chef who baked it, so I just went with that.

Also, as beautiful and (exceptionally) tasty as yesterday’s confection was, I think I still prefer the Bisquick version.

I don’t think that can reasonably be called Strawberry Shortcake. I think it should be called Omigod Will You Just Look At That Gorgeous Strawberry Shortcake-Like Thing Only Way Fancier And Boy Does It Look Tasty Omigod Omigod.

That, of course, is the short version of the name. The long version includes all the sounds made while eating it, and perhaps the thud of my body hitting the floor when I faint afterwards.

Strawberry short cake main course followed by that chocolatly goodness in the back ground for for the second course.
Then wait and see which wins, gluttony induced catatonia or sugar buzz.
nom nom nom

Every leap day my parents let us eat dessert first and they played it just like normal days – telling us that we couldn’t have any dinner unless we finished dessert. It was cool. Since being “grown up” and on my own, eating dessert first or for breakfast or at whatever odd “verboten” time has never been as satisfying as I think it should be. I do, however, eat munchies before dinner if I’m hungry and think “Screw it, if I ruin my apatite, I’ll just have the rest of dinner later.” That makes me feel like a rebel. RARH!

That is one awesome and gorgeous looking strawberry shortcake-a-like. Mmmm…

Ah, I will be in San Diego in two weeks, so I’ll have to keep that place in mind! (I’m actually from San Diego, coming home to visit Mom.)

I’ve been meaning to have cake for my birthday breakfast some time–the appeal is only heightened by the fact that such a meal was referred to as a “whore’s breakfast” in one of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood books.

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