“Oh God, this one is better than the first one.”
“Christ, Apolo. When are you going to stop eating those?”
“When they stop being delicious. And stop acting so high-and-mighty, Celski. You’re the one who showed me that app.”
“Yeah, but had I known you’d love a batch of cupcakes more than me…Apolo, you’re going to turn into a cupcake someday.”
“Whatever, Mother dear.”
“Whatever yourself. I’ll be in bed once you’re done with your cupcake orgy.”
“It’s not a problem until I say it’s a problem!”
Apolo woke up the next morning feeling…off. He had apparently fallen asleep on the couch after his incredibly memorable cupcake binge, which made sense. He didn’t remember the couch being so big, though. Same with the coffee table. And the copy of Men’s Health on the floor seemed to grow overnight. Weird.
Papery. Why did his butt feel papery? Was that a big problem? Hopefully his butt was just asleep or something, because calling a hospital for papery-butt would be all sorts of awkward. Apolo started to move his legs to get the blood flowing again.
No response from his lower torso. Something was officially wrong.
Apolo took in his surroundings. The couch was suddenly huge, as was the table and magazine. The television had gotten pretty big too.
The television gave off a reflection, of course, and in it, Apolo noticed one last cupcake balanced on the cushions. It looked divine. It appeared to be buttercream, with a hearty helping of chocolate frosting on top. An American flag ribbon was tied around it, just below the frosted top. It reminded Apolo of his…
Wait. No. No way.
Apolo shimmied to the best of his ability. The cupcake in the reflection shifted ever so slightly closer to the edge of the couch, mimicking Apolo’s wriggle.
Oh God. Apolo thought. This has to be a dream. It HAS to be. I’m Apolo Ohno, not a cupcake. I gotta get out of here. He wiggled and twisted as best as he could, but he couldn’t control his direction. Suddenly, he was seeing the carpeted floor getting closer and closer. He landed with a very real -smish- that he felt rattle through his entire tiny new body.
Alright, time for damage assessment. He had definitely lost some frosting off his top to the carpet. The edge of his paper wrapper was starting to peel away, which made him feel naked. Oh, and there was also the fact that he had become a fucking cupcake. Dammit, J.R. had jinxed him!
More than five seconds passed, and Apolo swore to himself. He was now thoroughly inedible. A smooshed cupcake on an old carpet, gathering dust in what was left of its frosting. What a world. And he was buttercream, too! A truly complete waste of deliciousness!
There was only one person who could help, and it was the one Apolo blamed for getting him in this mess. But where was JR? Apolo tried yelling for help, wondering if cupcakes actually made sounds people could hear. Sure, he had often joked that pastries were calling out to him, but his present state had adjusted his sense of humor quite significantly.
After what felt like hours, JR finally appeared in the room, scratching his side and yawning. Time for Apolo to put himself into high gear. He rolled himself from one side to another as ferociously as he could, yelling “Dammit, JR! Look what you did!”
JR watched for a moment, blinking in confusion. Instead of rushing to his distressed boyfriend’s aid, he shut his eyes and rubbed his brow.
“I…I should go back to sleep.” And with that low grumble, Apolo’s one shot at some semblance of a rescue moseyed back into the bedroom. There he was, the once Olympic legend, now a half-unwrapped sticky mess on the floor with a boyfriend who assumed he was a hallucination. It was impossible to hold back the oncoming sob.
Apolo learned something that morning.
Sprinkles are a cupcake’s tears.