70. Heavenly Cupcakes
© Bruce Goodman 19 December 2013
There was one thing Ernie couldn’t do. He couldn’t make cupcakes. Every man and his dog could make cupcakes. Every child at school could make cupcakes. Pink ones. Green ones. Chocolate chip ones. Cupcakes with prunes and eggplant and anchovies. Every cheerful variant of cupcake in the world with every fun option of frosting. Four-year-olds could do it. Ernie couldn’t. Ernie’s were too dry. Or too sweet. Or too soggy. Or too doughy. Or... simply awful.
“Dear God,” prayed Ernie, “if there’s a heaven, I want to make cupcakes. Because I like them. And they are happy things.”
And, you know, Ernie died.
“I heard your prayer,” said God. “You shall make cupcakes for heaven.”
“But my cupcakes suck,” Ernie humbly replied.
“Not any more they won’t,” said God.
So Ernie set to work to make cupcakes for heaven. What a success they were! Millions a day! Angels forgot about angel cake; it was Ernie’s cupcakes with their cup of tea. There was no variant of cupcake that Ernie couldn’t and wouldn’t do. Every imaginable cupcake recipe on the earthly internet was tried, used, and became an instant hit. Ernie was in cupcake heaven.
Four million, two hundred and seventy-six thousand, eight hundred and eighty-one years, four months, twenty-seven days, six hours and four minutes later, God passed Ernie’s cupcake kitchen door.
“Excuse me!” shouted Ernie, after God. “Excuse me! Sir!”
God stopped and turned. “What is it?” he said.
“Do you think I could do something else for a change?” asked Ernie.