Today when I was icing all the cupcakes—how many? Dozens or maybe hundreds, enough to keep me busy for six hours—I did not, not even for one single cupcake, make the effort to make sure I was putting a lot of love into it I usually do that. I think about how swirly the icing is, I think about the sensory experience of biting into the cupcake, and I imagine the person who buys it laughing a little because it’s a kind of silly, indulgent, special-occasion thing to do. Maybe they were having an especially hard day today and they needed it, or maybe not, but I like to imagine that for some reason or other that cupcake changes their life for the better, because of the good wishes I put into it. I hope that the cupcake will make them remember that they deserve to be nice to themselves, and to give themselves little special treats or whatever it is they need to feel good. Or I hope they get that crazy manic feeling you get from too much sugar and end up spending the whole night dancing or doing something fun if wouldn’t normally— so that’s basically the same thing. And sometimes the wishes are more ambiguous, open ended whispery ideas like, break up with your boyfriend! Get out of New York! Or even murkier, I hope this cupcake is as fun to eat as it was to make, and always, usually, love, love, love. Let this cupcake remind you what love is like. Let it remind you what pride in your work is like, but not today. Today I completely forgot.