So, look. When you’re a kid, you do a lot of crazy things. I was born in 1985, so my childhood role plays involved a lot of Rainbow Brite (it says a lot about my friendship group at the time that we all wanted to be her rainbow horsey), Ghostbusters (running up and down my driveway with my friend Bruce shouting, “GHOSTBUSTERS!”), and occasionally Captain Planet when we were feeling community-minded (I always had to be Linka because I was blonde and no one ever wanted to be Heart Boy, whatever his name was).
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that we all do silly shit when we’re little. It’s okay. It’s normal. It’s part of the joy of being too young for societally-enforced self-consciousness: True freedom of expression.
I guess what I’m saying is that it’s not a massively big deal that one time I baked a birthday cake for Will Smith.
It was 1995. I did not know Will Smith, or any people who were in any way connected to the then-Fresh Prince Of Bel Air. I was ten. He was turning 25 or something – I’d look it up, but google is all the way over there (*points vaguely to the left*).
For years, I blocked out the truth about this event. “I didn’t make it specifically because it was his birthday,” I scoffed, smoothing my dinner jacket and swirling my brandy around my crystal snifter lazily. “I happened to be baking a cake and I thought it would be whimsical to write ‘Happy 25th[?] birthday, Will Smith’ on it, as a jape. Purely a satirical caper, I assure you!” And then I would toss my head back and laugh in a British accent. I was a weird teenager.
Unfortunately, I have been corrected on this front by my darling, infuriating mother who has the gall to remember this event with fond parental clarity. “You bought the cake mix especially for his birthday,” she tells me happily. “And blue icing gel to write with. It was so sweet.”
God damn it, mother. Must you insist on remembering things like this? I’ve blocked it out like a bad day in Vietnam – why can’t you? Joke’s on her though, because I’m totally going to bring up embarrassing things she’s done when she has Alzheimer’s and can’t remember anymore.
(That was a terrible thing to say. I’m so sorry, mum. I love you. You deserve better than me.)
At any rate, it seems the truth cannot be denied any longer. Now, sixteen years after the event, I can finally accept the terrible facts: I once baked a birthday cake specifically in celebration of Will Smith’s birthday. There is even photographic evidence in the form of a photo (as is traditional): I am smiling witlessly, clueless to the abominable dorkiness of my actions, wearing a too-large apron and holding a cake with ‘Happy 25th[?] Birthday, Will Smith” etched damningly in blue icing for all to see. Accepting of this incident as I am, I will make it my life’s mission to ensure that that photo never sees the light of day*.
* I can’t be bothered looking for it, but if I stumble across it I’ll probably scan and upload it, whatever.