The Butt Cake and The Attempted Robbery of My Converse Sneaker

Elise from the Attic is a weekly blog post from my sister Elise who is currently kicking up her heels and studying her ass off in Kentucky. She is a fashionista and a lunatic, but we love her. Mostly. Here is this week's edition of:

I am afraid to death of confrontation.

I avoid it at all possible costs. In fact, the things I do to avoid confrontation are quite irrational, and getting worse.

When I was little, I'd have my step mom tell my dad if I got a bad grade because I was afraid to tell him myself.

In Jr. High it elevated.

I once ordered a burger from McDonalds with ketchup only and when I got my burger with mustard, pickles etc., I walked away pretending to be satisfied before I begged my cousin to order me another. I don't know what I thought the less than meticulous McDonalds employee would do to me if I spoke up, but I was not going to take the chance.

My freshman year of high school, in French class we could make a dessert to share with the class for extra credit. I jumped on the idea and since it was Christmas time, asked my mom to make me the "Buche de Noel," a cake that had to be shaped and frosted to look like a log. She worked on this thing for hours and it was beautiful.

Well... I rode the bus in high school before I got my driver's license. The regulars of the public bus system I noticed, did not seem to be any more friendly than the McDonalds employee, as you can imagine. So I sat down, with the cake that my mother slaved over on a glass platter in a box next to me.

As I sat thinking to myself about how impressed my teacher would be with my extra credit, a man walked onto the bus. He was scary looking to say the least, dirty and scowling. And just guess which seat this man chose to sit his unclean behind on? The one that had been occupied by my gorgeous, time consuming, amazing cake, which was ON A PLATTER... IN.  A.  BOX.

I wish I was lying. Did I mention that there were MAYBE three seats on the bus that were taken? The man SAT ON MY CAKE, but the best part is...guess what I said to him?

Absolutely nothing.

We rode to school, twenty minutes, with this man sitting about four inches away from me on what was obviously not an empty seat. I was crying at this point.

My friends were sitting across from the man, the cake and I, laughing silently yet hysterically at the fact that I hadn't said a word and was silently weeping. The man looked over at me and said "Am I bothering you?" at one point, and I said no... I'm telling you, something is wrong with me.

{This is not my cake}

When we finally got to school one of my friends asked the man for my cake.  He stood up, handed it to her and asked me why I hadn't said anything... I ran off the bus. I had never laughed or cried harder in my life than when we opened that box as the bus pulled away to see a huge ass print in what was once a decadent log shaped cake.  Butt Cake.

I wish I could tell you that I was young and stupid, but the truth is I am now four years older... and still stupid.

A few months ago I was in the library, at a desk that sits four people, two on either side of a wall. You can't see the people across from you, but if you look under the desk, you can see their feet. Supposedly the two boys on the other side of the wall noticed me take my shoes off and thought it would be funny to take one of them.

I heard them talking about it and laughing but, I said nothing.  I didn't even move to see if I was missing a shoe until they left. I then looked over to my friend, who had been on the bus with me so many years ago, and explained the situation. She cried laughing as we searched the entire floor of the library for my shoe and eventually found it up on a shelf.

I would have walked back to my dorm shoeless before I would have told that shoe stealing bastard to back off my Converse.

As you can see, I am deathly afraid of confrontation and though it often puts me into unfortunate predicaments, I justify it to myself,  knowing that at least other people get a kick out of it. If you only knew my family, you would understand that I am the black sheep if there ever was one when it comes to speaking up.

I'm working on it.

Until next week,

Elise, From the Attic