Mmmmm ... cake balls! (MCT file photo )
Sometimes movies romanticize the idea of the "perfect job." Being the consistently overzealous idealist that I am (aka drama queen), I admit I have spent days dreaming about my own career taking flight in a movie montage.
It would start as one of those "I forgot to put on deodorant" kind of days. After breaking a heel while helplessly trying to wave down a cab that splashed through a puddle of water leaving me soaking wet, I finally arrive home to find a letter from my boyfriend explaining he thinks we should break up because I've become too vanilla.
While I console myself in a bucket of Popeyes and blubber through black-and-white films, I reach for the box of cake balls I made for a work party. While thinking to myself that they're not half bad, I see an article about female entrepreneurs peeking through the pile of snotty tissues. After a brief debate with myself over which is harder to spell, entrepreneur or restaurateur, I have a catharsis. I, Katie Killacky, will become the Cake Ball Queen of Chicago!
This is where everything will begin to move rather quickly because I've got to become a success by the time Chaka Khan finishes singing "I'm Every Woman." First, I must fail—miserably. Flour will detonate all over my kitchen, leaving me covered in more white powder than Lindsay Lohan in an avalanche. My hand mixer will somehow short out, blasting cake ball mixture all over my cabinets. And let's not forget that I will need to set off the fire alarm at least a dozen times.
My doorman, Lou, will try samples from the batches and produce unenthusiastic looks that will turn into so-so hand signals and eventually become high fives. Upon his approval, I will proudly walk outside and notice a "For Rent" sign in the window of a—you guessed it—run-down bakery.
Dusty shelves will morph into heavenly rows of brilliantly colored cake balls as I stand out front, clumsily directing the workers hanging my sign that reads "Balls Out Bakery." I haven't yet decided if I'll name it this because it will be next to Wrigley Field or because I'll have only gay men working there.
And just as my song is ending and we see a series of newspapers being thrown down with headlines such as "Flour Is Power For Chicago Woman," my ex-boyfriend will casually walk by my store, do a double take, and say, "Katie?"
It's only been two weeks since he left me, but I'll be unrecognizable.
As he attempts to reconcile, I'll thank him for helping me realize I'm in love with Lou. He leaves, but not before I offer him a cake ball. Vanilla.
Alas, it's probably time to stop the daydreams and focus on more realistic situations. Like the asteroid the size of Texas that is hurtling toward Earth as we speak. Ah ... only in the movies.
KATIE KILLACKY IS A REDEYE SPECIAL CONTRIBUTOR.