My parents came to visit this weekend and picked up a belated birthday cake from a little bakery in Waterloo, Iowa. There was a lot of suspense leading up to the unveiling of the cake, including making me avert my eyes while we rode the elevator up 8 floors to my apartment and making me go wait in the bathroom while they put on the finishing touches. Oh, the irony. Here was my surprise:
More like S__T we spelled your name wrong.
I quickly got over the sting of the misspelling, and dove right in. If I boycotted eating every cake on which my name was misspelled, I probably would have deprived myself of about half the birthday cakes of my lifetime. Cake deprivation is not something I choose to participate in on my birthday. Or ever. Especially when there are copious amounts of frosting involved.
My dad had a double dose of cake – poop cake and carrot cake. Typical.
Same with my mom. She ate it so fast that I couldn’t even get a good picture.
Thanks, Mom & Dad!



