"But I WANT A BIRTHDAY CAKE!"
I went home and dejectedly ate a cookie instead. Stupid universe. How long does the whole birthday thing last? If you finally get your cake 2 days AFTER your birthday and you buy it yourself, does it count? Or am I perpetually stuck a year behind now? (That might come in handy next year when I turn 40. I can still say I'm 39 then. Remember that.)
On Saturday I rose late and sat for a good hour in my pajamas, drinking coffee and blogging. There were lots of plans for the day, from housework to groceries and cooking, coffee with my bestie, and more.
I almost forgot about it but finally, around 11 am I grabbed the phone and called the bakery to ask them to put one aside. They are popular, those little bits of chocolate goodness.
"I need a SMALL cake," I specified. Even we, the die hard chocolate lovers, can't eat a large one ourselves. Nor should we, without plans to exercise strenuously to burn off the thousands of calories that would be coursing through our bodies.
Two hours later I arrived at the shop, cooler in hand, ready to pick it up. I was meeting my friend for coffee, and the cake would need to sit in the car for awhile. No point in risking it melting if the car was warm, right?
The teenager behind the counter didn't seem to understand me.
"I phoned, around 11, and asked one to be put aside. Chocolate ganache." I explained, for the third time.
Oh please let them get it right. Please, please tell me there are cakes. Please. I will just cry now if they don't have one.
She came out with a box and rang me up. That box looks a little big. Is it? No, oh no...
"I asked for a small one. That's a big one. Do you have any small?"
She sighed and went into the back to look.
The universe is conspiring against me. I looked at my shoes and heaved a sigh of resignation. Am I desperate to pay $25 and buy the big cake, even though we really don't need it? I guess I could freeze it.
How can it be so stupidly HARD to get a birthday cake?!
She arrived back with a small box in hand, and I resisted the urge to snatch it from her hands, hold it high over my head like the Stanly Cup, and dance a jig right there in the coffee shop. I could have kissed her. MY cake. My BIRTHDAY cake. FINALLY!
Later that afternoon, with the cake lovingly tucked into a cooler and waiting in the car, I sat by the ocean sipping coffee with my best friend. The friend who had read my tweets where I longed for chocolate cake, and so kindly gifted me with this so I will never be unprepared again.
Now I had my cake and could bake it too! Then just to be sure, she handed me SIX (yes, SIX) bars of Green and Black's Organic Chocolate, with a Lindt bunny. I have enough chocolate in this house to last me until next Easter.
That evening after an amazing dinner, we sliced into the cake and savored each decadent bite. As I sat there, finally content that my birthday had been sufficiently celebrated, I tweeted that it was so good I was tempted to lick the the plate.
@mrshotmom tweeted me back immediately, to remind me that it was my birthday after all, and plate licking was entirely acceptable.
Really? Do I? It's sort of rude. But this was a hard won cake. I had to fight for it this year. Glancing at John and Kevin trying to get every last crumb off their plates with their forks, I finally lifted my plate to my tongue and gave it a long, slow, lick.
"What are you doing? That's gross!" John snorted
"Hey. It's MY birthday and this was one HARD won cake. I figure I can do whatever I like. And while we're talking about this, let me tell you one thing." I paused and set the plate down, looking John in the eye and speaking slowly, carefully, so that he wouldn't miss a thing.
"I will ALWAYS want a cake." (he never forgot that. Every year after, there was cake)
