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Friday, July 25, 2003

Okay, so I took a short break from blogging. This is chiefly because I was busy on holiday in NeverNeverLand (that is, you know, my apartment) and doing other such important things as 1) staring blankly at my computer screen, and 2) Absolutely Fuck All.

I have grown, over the past few years, quite proficient in the doing of Absolutely Fuck All. If that's ever to become an Olympic sport, I've got the gold, hands down. The staggering heights I have attained in the pursuit of sheer laziness is just amazing. I will understand if you all need to take a moment to breathe, since it's really rather overwhelming at times.

Done, then? Okay.

So, my son's birthday was on Wednesday. If you read the post below, you know I baked him a cake. What you don't know is that after I mixed the batter, I was faced with A Dilemma of Grand Proportions. The Dilemma of Grand Proportions went as follows:

Our Heroine, the Goddess of All Things Domestic and Quite Clearly the Best Mother on the Planet, Not to Mention Incredibly Attractive and Lust-Inspiring, As Well As Charmingly Humble and Full of Vim and Vigor (that is, you know, me): All right, time to put the batter in the pans and put the pans in the oven at a nice 350 for 25 minutes, and then voila! Chocolate cake.

Our Heroine rummages about in the cupboards where she keeps the baking pans for a few minutes, producing not the expected TWO round 9 inch cake pans, but ONE round 9 inch cake pan.

Our Heroine: Hmm. It seems that I have lost a cake pan. How does one lose a cake pan?

More rummaging ensues, this time in every cupboard in the kitchen, as well as the two closets in the kitchen, the closet in the living room, and the linen closet. No cake pan is found.

Our Heroine, to The Son: Have you seen Momma's cake pan?

The Son, after a thoughtful look: No. We eat mah birthday now?

Our Heroine: Well, we can't eat it raw. That's just not proper.

Our Heroine rootles through the toy box, since everything in the house somehow ends up in the toy box at some point, including, but not limited to: toilet paper, the keys, cameras, power tools, a lamp, all the silverware, and on one memorable occasion, Our Heroine's favorite garter belt (the black lace one with the roses)...No cake pan.

Our Heroine: Now what will I do? *hand to forehead* My domestic skills are in peril.

A lightbulb goes off in Our Heroine's head. She will craftily use a rectangular 13x9 inch pan, rather than the two round 9 inch pans to bake the cake. Problem solved!

And so, she does.

The allotted 25 minutes pass, after which Our Heroine takes the Gently Steaming, Perfectly Baked Chocolate Cake Capable of Ending World Hunger and Cultivating Peace on Earth With the Sheer Force of Its Chcolatey Goodness out of the oven. She is pleased.

She waits while the cake cools.

After that amount of time has elapsed, she returns to the kitchen, arms herself with a butter knife, and prepares to frost the cake. Too late does Our Heroine realize that the largest plate she has in the house, while perfectly suited to support a double layer round 9 inch chocolate cake, is TOO SMALL for the rectangular creation that the oven has spewed forth.

Our Heroine stares with dismay.

But she will not be defeated!

So what does she do?

She chops the cake in half, and stacks it up.


Feeling rather pleased with herself, she frosts the cake and All is Well.

So what if it was a bit deformed and leaning to the left?


So, we had a small party for the boy's third birthday, complete with the Leaning Tower of Birthday Cake, which, I'll have you know, tasted JUST EXCELLENT, despite the fact that it looked terrible. Aesthetics aren't everything, my dearies.

The party went well. I had Ophelia over, as well as Rick and Dan (two of Ryan's friends). Asher was pleased with his presents, and then it was time for the cake. So, I bring the cake out from the kitchen, candles a-glow, and we commence with the singing of the birthday song. Asher is perched majestically in his high chair, awaiting the delivery of his 'birthday.'

Two lines into the song, he shouts, 'SHUT UP!' at the top of his lungs, complete with a thunderous expression upon his small face.

I thought I had taught the boy manners. Apparently, I failed.

Ah well. The cake was good.

link | posted by Zombie at 3:26 PM |


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