The Aftermath

I am a woman of my word. On Sunday (right after my visit with God), I went to the grocery store to purchase my birthday cake. I was a little dismayed at the selection. As a SIF, I can spot a fresh cake that’s been frozen. I wanted a cake with frosting not a frosty cake! Then there was the issue of flavor…chocolate or vanilla. Easy solution…marble. I would have loved one of those Costco cakes filled with custard BUT…I live on an island with ghetto food stores. Custard is a fancy word in these here parts. I decided not to stare at them too long for fear that someone would come over and ask me if I needed help. That would lead to a tirade about how men are thoughtless animals. No one appreciates an irate birthday girl fresh outa church causing a scene in the baked goods section. They just don’t.

So I placed my $10.99 ghetto cake in the cart and admired it momentarily. It was hideous! It had all sorts of confetti and bows hanging off of it! It was a tacky 80’s cake for someone with big permed hair and bad clothes. I had a plan…I would doctor it up at home so as to make it suitable for consumption without regurgitation. In the meantime, I covered it up with bread and vegetables. When I got to the checkout line, I made sure that I didn’t look the cashier in the eye. Either of them. I have a tendency to be overly friendly and I didn’t want any questions about the Debbie Gibson cake. It was wrong on so many levels. When it was time to scan the cake, I looked away. As is the case in these situations, we needed a price check! Of course! Had they given me the mic it would have gone something like this, “We need a price check on one of the hideous frozen 80’s cakes being purchased by a woman who’s husband failed to come through on her birthday…followed by the chorus to Lost in your Eyes. Needless to say, they didn’t offer up the mic. Instead I made small talk with Svelkta the Russian cashier about…you guessed it…the person having a birthday. I gave her the short version. She said that if she could, she would give me the cake for free. See…there are SIF strategically placed everywhere when needed. $10.99 later…

I decided to run a little recon on the husband for effect. Sunday’s are his day to watch football until I arrive with the groceries. When he hears me bringing up the first load, he follows with the remaining items. Can you guess what I left in the car? The freakin cake! I knew if he had to carry it he would also carry with him enough guilt to trigger his memory for 2009. Worked like a charm. He set the cake on the counter and I went in for the kill. I was polite. “Would you like a piece of my birthday cake?” There wasn’t an answer that would saved him and he knew it. “I didn’t know you wanted a cake! You always complain about being fat. I would have gotten you one.” I simply replied, “I am fat. Fat people love cake. All that other shit is for every other day of the year. Please make note of it.” He went back to his man cave defeated. I proceeded to “de-Debbie” the cake. Yup, just a few minor adjustments and it was ready to meet my gut! It wasn’t great but it didn’t have to be. It was the principal. Don’t worry, I didn’t sing to myself. Ok maybe with my inside voice.

So I had my belated cake and ate it too. All in all a great birthday. Of course there’s cake left over and now I’ll have to eat it bcs it’s a shame to waste. Maybe I’ll change my theory…instead of being less than or equal to your shoes size let’s make it your age. I fear that gives me some wiggle room. I like it.