Research (here and here and, more broadly, here, to start) shows that women are interrupted significantly more frequently than men are, and that men are significantly more likely to interrupt than women, and that men are significantly more likely to interrupt a woman than a man.
Interruption. [Excluding confounds like a (sometimes, but not necessarily always, because that can be gaslighting) scenario-dependent, operational definition of the term, and also the whole binary thing.] It can be a great – but super lame – tactic to subtly exert dominance over the person you’re conversing with. Even if the conversation is about nothing.
*You are genuinely impacting their ability to add to the conversation by doing so.
*You are preventing them from completing their thought in conversation form.
Though the articles I have been reading have pointed out several interesting and also dishearteningly gendered facts, I would like to point out something else that I learned: the significant interruption of women studied did not always observe that the interruption of women came from a man (here). This is to say:
We interrupt women. We interrupt them.
Recently, I met someone new who made an assumption about something I was an expert on. As in, it was something that happened to me. This person unfairly bombarded me without even the most remote understanding of what the situation was. We had just met. I politely listened to what they said. When they finished and I went to respond, a finger was lifted to silence me. They grabbed their phone and they told me they had someone they needed to speak to. [Sometimes, I am very tired.]
Sometimes, cake doesn’t resolve exhaustion. However, it does always add to a given situation. And we generally always allow it to add to.
Warm molasses goop whisked with pumpkin and spice wafts warmth from the oven, straight out of which, it meets cinnamon-tinged glaze. At room temp, the icing crackles under the pressure of your fingertips and your lips.
Perhaps I will shove this cake into any interrupters’ mouths from here on out.
Extending well wishes to you and yours this season / sending love, especially if you need it, and even if you’re an interrupter (I guess). ❤ One Year: Apple-Asian Pear Pie with White Cheddar Crust and Bacon Streusel
Two Years: Orange-Infused Sunflower Seed Butter Granola with Fennel and Golden Raisins
Three Years: Gingery Cranberry and White Chocolate Bars
Four Years: Chewy Molasses Cookies
Five Years: Avocado Horiatiki Salad
Makes one 9×13-inch cake
1 1/2 cups confectioner’s sugar
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1-2 tbsp whole milk, or more for desired consistency
1 cup blackstrap molasses
1/2 cup dark corn syrup
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 sticks unsalted butter
1 tbsp pure vanilla extract
1 cup pumpkin puree
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp allspice
1/2 tsp salt
Whisk together confectioner’s sugar and cinnamon. Whisk in vanilla and milk, one tablespoonful at a time, until glaze reaches desired consistency. Set aside.
Preheat oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Grease a 9x13x2 cake pan and set aside. In a large pot, heat molasses, corn syrup, brown sugar, butter, and vanilla on medium until butter has completely melted. Whisk in pumpkin puree, then transfer to a large bowl and let cool for 5 minutes. Meanwhile, whisk together flour, baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, allspice, and salt in a medium bowl. When molasses mixture has cooled slightly, beat in eggs, one at a time. Beat in dry ingredients in halves until just combined. Pour the mixture into the prepared cake pan and bake for 30-40 minutes, until a tester comes out clean, with moist crumbles attached. Immediately pour glaze over warm cake in the pan, spreading evenly. Serve warm.