Wednesday, 13 July 2016

Cake.

redrubble.com
SO we will be celebrating a birthday next week.  A lovely birthday.    A birthday for a boy and a milestone for mother.  I got him through another year.   Onwards and upwards.   A little further towards independence.  

   It will be a family celebration only as this child already had his birthday party before they all broke up for the summer holidays.

But I’ve run into a problem.  A cake problem, to be precise.

Read on.   It’s too complicated to explain. 

Him:  Will you make me a cake for my birthday?

Me:   Of course I will.  Which cake would you like?  How about chocolate?

Him:  Yes.   Chocolate is good.

Me:  Chocolate sponge with cream and jam or a little bit of……………..

Him:   Wait! No!  I don’t like sponge.

Me:  Oh-khay.  What kind of cake would you like then?

Him:  I want a Sam cake.

Me:  A Sam cake.   What’s a Sam cake?

Him:   Sam.  From Jacksepticeye.

Me:  From a what-now?

Him:  Jack. Septic. Eye.  But you say it all together.  Jacksepticeye.    Sam from jacksepticeye.

Me:   ………………………………A Sam cake.”

Quick sprint to the google machine.

Very pleased to find all Sam is, is a big eye ball (black and blue) against a green background.   Rolls of ready-made icing are go!  I’ve got this.  But what do I put the icing on?

Me: So what kind of cake would you like me to put the eyeball on?

Him: I don’t know!   I don’t know any ingredients, do I?

Patience, mother.  Patience.

Me:  Ok, so think about what kind of cake you like to eat?

Him:  I. Don’t. Like. Cakes.  I just want a Jacksepticeye cake.

His fists were beginning to clench in frustration and I was fantasising about the wine in the fridge.  How much was left, exactly?   

Me:  OK.   Listen to me for a minute.   See, I can make the eyeball, no problem.  That’s the easy part.   But I need to be able to glue it onto something.

Him:  GLUE???????

Me:   No.  Not real glue. But I have to be able to stick the eyeball onto some kind of cake.  And I need you to tell me what kind of cake you like.

Him:   I want a plain white cake.

Me:   You mean sponge?

Him:  No!  I don’t like sponge.  You’re not listening to me!

Me:  I am.   I promise I am.   (Jeeeeeeeeeesus)   

Him:   The SpongeBob cake from the last party!   That’s a plain white cake.

Me:    That’s a sponge cake.    They are all sponge cakes.

Then he walked off.  Disgusted with me.


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