I took the weekend off-off. Completely off. I did a little revising, but mostly… I made cakes.
Yes, cakes. Plural.
We started Saturday with a nice white cake, avec whipped cream and sliced fruit. Then Sunday morning dawned, and I was ready. Next came a yellow cake with chocolate frosting (always a classic) and a red velvet cake, also undressed because really, we had whipping cream and strawberries left.
I’m getting to consider most frostings extraneous. Can’t tell whether it’s old age or just a natural evolution of my aesthetics.
In any case, we ate a lot of cake. I realized between one bite and the next I had reached that wonderful stage of I’ve had enough cake, so I got to feel what that’s like. it was almost as sudden as burnout. One moment I was fine, wanting cake like a normal regular person. Then, all of a sudden, I became one of the ones who have had enough cake. It was magical. I don’t expect it to happen again–if it takes three cakes to get there, it’s a bit labor-intensive–but I’m glad I had the experience once.
So to speak.
The kids were all in on this experiment. I’m pretty sure they hit peak cake, too, by the way nothing except slivers of the red velvet survived the night.
So, for breakfast, despite being part of a magical siblinghood of Those Who Have Had Enough Cake, I had red velvet cake with my coffee.
I mean, I wouldn’t want it to go to waste, you know?
And I’ve found out something important. Even after that magical moment when you have Had Enough Cake, your enjoyment of cake is a renewable resource. I don’t know what I would have done should that have turned out to be not so.
Kind of sends a cold shiver up the back, doesn’t it.
But we’ve dodged that bullet on a Monday, and the dogs–who could not have much cake, since there was chocolate in a majority of it–need walking. Just as soon as I finish my coffee.
And maybe just the tiniest remaining sliver.