Let Them Eat Cake

It's birthday season around here. I'm feeling behind. Perpetually behind. Also, a little despondent. Sometimes, it seems like the only way to stay one step ahead of the game is to stay up way too late or get up way to early, or both. I'm tired. Yes, I would like a little cheese with my whine, thank you very much. Actually, I'd like a little cake. With wine. (Notice, I dropped the 'h.')

Because cake makes us happy.


Really happy. (I don't want this cake, blech, baby slobber.)


There wasn't any of this cake left.


Don't worry, I got my share. I've killed for chocolate. (Not really, but I've contemplated it.) (No children were harmed in the making of this post or the eating of the cake. My ham-eating husband was maimed a little, maybe, but only because he bought the wrong cake mix. Devil's Food. DOUBLE BLECH! The right cake mix always has two chocolates in the title. Double chocolate fudge. Chocolate Supreme Fudge. Ooey Gooey Chocolate, Chocolate Fudge. Not Devil's Food. That doesn't even mention chocolate. Ham-eaters. Honestly.)


Peace out. I'm going to bed.