The Wrong Side of the Cake
honey and ginger tea
I made two later that day. Chocolate, filled with fresh cream from Cardy’s Dairy right down the street, followed by the Victoria Sponge, sparsely spread with pale buttercream on one side and lumpy raspberry jam on the other. I smacked two sides together with a satisfying thump. Oh dear, mixed them up didn’t I. Chocolate and fresh cream on lumpy raspberry jam; what a thing to have done.
I pushed my spatula hands under the heavy black-and-white cake, which bowed as I lifted it, brought it to my mouth and salivated like a burger-eater with a bigger gob than a brain. Perhaps things would have been different if he could have mustered a sweet tooth. Was that too much to ask?
Chomp. It splurged everywhere, out the front, out the sides, out the bottom. I crossed the small kitchen with a single stride, tossed my disaster into the sink, and stabbed it repeatedly with my biggest knife. I tried to wash it down. The cowpat was obnoxiously stubborn, its juices seeping down the drain but its fleshy body refusing to budge. I decorated the top of it with green swirls of Fairy.
My efforts were futile. I wiped crumbs onto my apron and headed to the bathroom where the good soap lived. As my hands luxuriated in Honey and Ginger, I glanced at the closed shower curtain that would tell no tales and wondered how best to proceed. What a thing to have done.
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