Fahim wants me to bake more cake. He’s been wanting this for days. We’re down to a small sliver of Christmas cake and some jujubes left.
The muscat was finished yesterday – and we had a food fight with that one – but not the kind of food fight where you throw food – the kind of food fight where the muscat gets all squished in our hands as we try to make sure we have even amounts of muscat as compared to the other person’s huge portion of muscat as to make my own look as small as a peanut, and we don’t like that at all, do we – and we finished the assorted cake like a week or so ago, and that assorted cake was really only one kind of cake, not a variety of cakes, so why call it assorted, only Fahim says that they call it that because they don’t know what else to call it – so Fahim wanted me to make some cake.
Fahim, honey, aren’t you proud?
He’s been begging me for days. Seriously. Days. To make cake. What kind? I don’t care, he says. Oh give me a break. Give me some feedback already. I don’t care, he says again. Fine. Whatever. Then I suggest spice cake and he makes a face and says no. What happened to "I don’t care"? Hello?
