The truth about women
and cake
Day 1
On my haunches
I peer into the murky depths
of the ingredients cupboard
searching.
Ah there, at the back
behind the treacle,
an unopened pack of pistachios.
"What are you doing?"
I stand
toss the nuts in the air
and catch:
"I'm baking orange
pistachio and cranberry
muffins."
Scowl
"What about my diet?"
Shrug
"You are not obliged to eat them."
Wail. Huff. Sad face.
"But I won't be able to stop myself.
Please,
please don't bake muffins.
I beg you."
Day 2
Hopeful face
"Are you baking any cakes today?"
"Nope.
I'm listening to jazz
and playing chess.
Anyway … your diet?"
"But, I need cake.
If I don't have cake, I'll probably
die."
Shrug
I wanted muffins anyway so why not.
I bake twelve.
Cool them on the rack.
Freeze ten.
Munch. Slurp. Munch. Happy face.
"These are delicious. I may be forced
to have a second one."
I had no idea I'd end the day
as a tactful Mr Bumble.
"Sorry, you can't
I've frozen the rest."
Glower.
"You heartless bastard."
