In the glory days, we called ourselves The Better Batter Beaters. We were the best cake club in town. That was back before Betty and Beatrice got all humble on us.
Betty’s cakes were to die for… without fail. But then, Betty up and quit. “That’s it,” she said. “This cake-making is a source of pride I really must live without.”
Beatrice was our best judge and critic. “That cake is not as good as Betty’s” she’d say. “You need a better butter.” And Beatrice was always right. We’d bring our always-inferior cakes, and Beatrice could always identify just where we’d gone wrong. But then Beatrice came up with some nonsense about “taking inordinate pride” in her role as the Better Batter Beaters’ chief critic. “No more!” she said, “From now on, I’ll just eat cake. No more judging!”
Naturally, things went downhill. When we get together these days, we just eat so-so cake with our so-so coffee and talk about our so-so lives. Even Betty and Beatrice tell so-so stories.
All this mediocrity has me thinking…. Maybe we should start a Stellar Story-Tellers Club! That’s something I could really sink my teeth into! Who would serve as club president? I’d proudly run!
— Bouche Grande, 9/21/2021
Can you tell this is self-deprecating? It is!