Cake Walk

I've got a hankering for some cake.
I slid into the kitchen this morning after thinking about that cake
for an hour. The cake, leftover from someone's birthday, sat on the
round wooden table. The chocolate confection with airy white frosting
and squiggles of blue reading, "Happy Birt," was begging for me to
take a slice. I was tempted to run my finger along the yellow frosting
trim, but controlled myself.
I took a humble square and enjoyed every moment of it, washing it down
with the last swig of my morning Diet Coke.
Last night, we did something we very rarely do. After having an
appetizer and entree at a little Italian dive, we decided to take that leap and order dessert. Italian Creme Cake. Now, it wasn't the best Italian Creme Cake I've ever had, and trust me, I've tasted a few, but really Italian Creme Cake can never be bad. Even though I was a little offended by their sad attempt to decorate the plate with a couple of pumps of Redi Whip, once I had a bite of the rich frosting laced with coconut, the Redi Whip fiasco was forgotten.

I'd really like to sneak back into the kitchen and grab another sliver of cake, but I'm trying to practice a little self-control.
Besides, what I'd really like is a brownie. Or two.

Update: I just had a square of the some delicious chocolate cake with
chocolate icing and shavings – not the same cake I had this morning.
And a tiny square of chocolate brownie with chocolate chips on top.
Is this getting out of hand? My tummy kind of hurts.
This place is beginning to remind me of that Seinfeld episode where
there's a birthday cake – or get well soon cake – for someone everyday
at Elaine's office.


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