Originally Published 5/13/03


An Offer I Can Refuse

By Bobby

My consistent refusal to eat cake has yet to be accepted by silent indifference.

My future brothers-in-law are well aware of my penchant for avoiding the consumption of cake, and this became the source of much amusement last Fourth of July. As slices upon slices of various cakes were being passed about the backyard, I was bombarded with paper plates and demands, not suggestions, to eat its’ contents. My refusals to do so were accompanied by strange looks, inquiries as to why, and subsequent offerings of cakes of a different species, maybe baked by someone I felt closer to, and someone who would be offended by my denial. We all got a big kick out of the proceedings, as seven people total offered me multiple slices of cake, all receiving the crossing guard-type stop sign with the right hand, my major weapon against such hand-outs.

Of course, refusing any food from any people of Italian heritage is dangerous in and of itself. But my new family is now well accustomed to my dessert denials, and their reluctant acceptance of this has been cushioned by my desire to consume anything and everything but cake. Nevertheless, it must be explained why I take these risks, why I bare the brunt of harsh criticism for it, and what it says about society in general that most people abhor the fact that I do not eat cake.

In general, I do not eat cake because I do not like it. Sure, there are rare occasions when I will have a piece of carrot cake (my birthday most recently) or some other cake-like dessert. But these occurrences are very few and far in between. For starters, I do not like dessert, and my constant craving for all that was bad and teeth rotting as a youth has seemingly destroyed any present desire for anything sweet. Furthermore, dessert is customarily preceded by dinner, a meal, like breakfast and lunch, in which I leave no plate unturned, and do not allow my appetite room for hopes of what might come afterwards.

At the outset of my cake refusals, the confusion and resentment of others often forced me to rethink my intentions and succumb to the demands of those ruled by flour and sugar. But as I matured, and became stronger in my convictions, and more adamant in my hate for cake, I remained steadfast and even began to form societal observations regarding those very people who looked down on me with disgust, icing hanging from their noses.

For most people cake is a guilty pleasure, minor gluttony justified by someone graduating high school. The nutritious ramifications of cake have been well documented, namely on the box. So in essence, eating cake is “being bad”, and no one wants to be bad alone. My refusal to eat cake, albeit out of no nutritional sense whatsoever, outcasts me in the eyes of my peers. The absence of a plate in my hand is proof of the absence of their own sheer will with regards to healthy eating. People believe that if I can do it, so can they, even though I am making no sacrifice whatsoever.

And they hate me for it.

This has obviously been an enormous burden to myself, as each year passes, bringing with it the prospect and hope of joyous celebrations, only to be ruined by my simple refusal to just eat the darn cake. Nevertheless I remain steadfast, a hero of sorts to all my brethren who share a similar distaste for everything tasty.