Cake Makes Me Happy

Is that weird? That cake makes me so happy? I mean deep down, pit of my stomach, grinning from ear to ear happy? I think it might be, but I'll let you be the judge.

Here's the story: My beloved came home from work with a few bags of groceries I'd asked him to pick up and there was cake in one of them. CAKE. I was genuinely excited to see the Kleenex and juice (I'm sick and needed him to forage for sick girl supplies for me since I'm too pitiful and snotty to venture out myself at the moment) but the cake was unexpected -- and, and just so thrilling. CAKE -- cake on a damp, dreary February day. Unexpected cake. There it was, dark and gooey, sitting in a little plastic dome all chocolatey and full of sweet promise. And my heart leapt. And I smiled. I was at peace -- all was right with the world when I had that one blissful moment of realization that I was going to eat CAKE reeeallllllly soon.

As it so often is, my euphoria was interrupted by the mundane as I finished making dinner and poked through the mail. But then I'd catch site of CAKE again and the flush of anticipation would race through me anew. When I sat down to eat dinner, CAKE left my mind, ever so briefly. But throughout the meal it would pop back into my consciousness every now and then, rekindling the flame of my raw desire.

And then it was time to eat CAKE. And it was bliss. Thick, sticky-icing bliss on a plate. I was happy. It's been an hour and I'm still happy. CAKE is coursing through my veins. We are one.

See? Is this weird? I keep thinking it's just because my beloved surprised me with a sweet treat on a day he knew I needed a little pick-me-up. I keep thinking THAT'S what's made me so happy. I keep thinking HE'S the sweet one, not CAKE. But the thing of it is, CAKE IS sweet and I do love CAKE. I love CAKE a lot.

But of course it goes without saying that I love my beloved more. And maybe, just maybe he'll bring me CAKE again one day soon...