Am I the only one that sees poetry in buttercream?

Italian meringue buttercream is a pain to make. It requires simultaneous feats of whipping whites on your kitchenaid and boiling a sugar syrup on the stove to a soft ball stage. There is one moment of heart-pounding intensity where you have to pour a furiously boiling sticky liquid into a whirring machine of delicate and touchy egg whites. After that, you get elbow deep into pounds of cold butter that must be man-handled until pliable. The drama culminates in chunky nasty goop that makes you think it can't possibly come together--until it DOES. What you have left is the most heavenly buttercream, stable enough for tall feats of cake, and rich and smooth enough for the most discerning tastes. Even though this Mom-wife only has third grade and kindergarten fans, even they seem to understand. This year, I fully intended to short the short ones by making a confectioners sugar based shortcut for my daughter's birthday cupcakes. Then I was told, "Rebecca can't wait for my birthday celebration at school. She loves your frosting!". That did it. I may not have Clients, but I have fans. Little people, yes, but real fans.