The Cake I take risks. I’ve made some mistakes, but I’ve learned the odds and when I’m convinced it will be worth it . . . sometimes I gamble; sometimes I win. I had to go to the doctor this afternoon, twelve miles away, and you know how long that can take. On starting home I called her from the car (before leaving parking lot): “What are you thinking about for supper?” “What do you want?” “I’m not very hungry, I kinda feel snacky, how ‘bout some of that hummus with fresh lemon juice and tortilla chips?” “Sounds good to me, I’ll be waiting.” As I entered the house nearly three hours after leaving, the most wonderful aroma met me. Things have been happening while I was away. Now the last time I saw that cake plate on the counter like that I nearly got in trouble about it just from asking questions. So I didn’t even let on that I’d seen it. We fixed our hummus and ate it in the den while watching some game show on TV that she likes. I got up, collected her dish and took them to the sink. Opened the cake plate (she’s carried away with the game show); got down two blue willow saucers and coffee cups; proceeded to take a picture of the cake; cut us both a nice wedge; poured us some hot coffee; took another picture or two and took her some cake and coffee; and I never said a mumbalin word. I know that when she realizes what I have done ALL HELL COULD BREAK LOOSE . . . or it could go the way it did . . . “I hope you like it,” she said, “I haven’t made one of these in a long time.” “It looks delicious,” I said and turned away toward the counter and my cake quickly to hide that expression of victory on my face that would have been a dead giveaway that I knew I had done something wrong. I take risks . . . sometimes I win. How do you like our dessert?
Posted on: Sat, 11 Oct 2014 01:11:39 +0000
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