Let Us Eat Cake

Tonight we were meant to go dancing, but everyone else’s kids were sick. Rather than cancel the babysitter, we took an hour away from the girls and went out for cake.

There is a cake shop near our flat called Cake Spade, I assume after the expensive haberdasher, rather than for people who eat cake with a shovel. They have large layer cakes, they have tiny cupcakes with whorls of butter icing on top, and they have chocolate brownies in regular, Oreo and speculous flavours.

We ordered a hunk of red velvet sponge topped with pomegranate seeds (healthy, you see) and the speculous brownie, topped with vanilla ice cream. It’s lucky we went for the ice cream garnish because the brownie was so dry it sucked all the moisture from my mouth, and indeed made me feel like my whole body was becoming dessicated, even as I crammed more of it into my maw. (I do love paired homophones – earlier I had a lot of thoughts on my faults).

The red velvet was quite bland in comparison, which was a good thing as otherwise I imagine our heads might have exploded. We finished our cake fairly quickly and then went for a walk. My wife, undaunted by this confectionary assault, went window-shopping in more cake establishments, until we realised there was only so much cake-based nutrition that a man can absorb, and we gave it up and went to Littered With Books to buy La Serpiente a new, pirate-themed, sticker book.

Walking home we stopped to look at a tree, as slightly stroppy Latin types passed us in the street, arguing about something, or nothing in particular. Home, to bed, or an overstuffed inbox, and then to bed. Tomorrow, no more cake.

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