Who's my little buttercupcake?

Domestic bliss. To wear the pants. To assert the pressure of one's thumb.

This afternoon I was about to head out for a coffee with a friend in town, after having prepared a batch of simply delicious cupcakes (pictured). I said to my hubby, as I walked past him and his friend who were laying the floor in our campervan which was parked outside of the house - "Enjoy afternoon tea. I hope you enjoy the surprise I left you in the loungeroom." And sure enough, I had set up a tray with two cups, two teaspoons, two plates, two forks, two napkins, milk, sugar and 4 cupcakes - two for each boy. Yes, indeed. Afternoon tea with home made cupcakes, clearly for two.

But all Eddie remembered from earlier in the day was that I couldn't find the right frosting recipe and had had to make a second visit to the supermarket and that I was in a panic over the quality of the cupcakes with which I wanted to surprise our niece, 4 year old Sanne at her birthday party scheduled tomorrow. Eddie's dutiful husband ears heard "I'm off for afternoon tea. Whatever you do, don't eat what's in the loungeroom."

So he didn't. Eddie's friend was offered not one, but two cups of coffee. In the loungeroom. They boys chatted and drank their coffee from cups Ed had taken fresh from the cupboard, and not from the tray in the loungeroom.

More than once, Youre commented on the afternoon tea that had been set up, replete with cupcakes, saying how delicious they appeared. Edwin looked at them nervously and didn't dare to call me to check if they were "allowed to eat them." (Ed's words). He thought a) it was silly to be so scared of his wife and b) it would be too embarrassing to have to ask my permission while Youre was listening. So he made the sensible decision and opted to admire the tray set out for two with Youre, while they both secretly salivated and nursed their lonely cups of coffee accompanied only by stale biscuits (store bought last week - blah).

When I got home, the first thing I noticed was the uneaten cupcakes.

The cupcakes I'd prepared for the boys to reward them for their campervan floor-laying afternoon.

The extra cupcakes which I'd made in addition to my surprise-for-4-year-old-Sanne.

The cupcakes that had made me late for my own afternoon tea in town.

I couldn't speak for about 30 minutes. And then I just couldn't stop laughing.

What a darling, my little buttercup buttercupcake, my Eddie.