Yet another birthday celebration at work.
Free servings of beautiful, velvety swirls of strawberry cream, golden silky ribbons of ras-malai or, for the orthodox, rich seductive cocoa-blessed confections. #Youprefer.
There’s something supremely satisfying, sigh-inducing and perhaps even masochistic about biting into a piece of cake that reciprocates your love by taking up permanent residence in your hind quarters.
Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that your earliest memories of cake revolve around birthday parties – when your parents fussed over you, fellow toddlers got high on sugar and you tore away at shiny wrapping paper with undisguised, savage glee.
Or is it because you remember your friends sneaking into your house at midnight with hastily-bought-at-the-last-minute cake on birthdays you spent away from family?
Or because you laugh whenever you think of that time on campus when classmates would shove, stomp and claw their way through the huddle around the cake to get their grubby hands on the biggest slice, with the greatest of childish relish?
Could it be because you remember how a boy once bought you a pastry to ‘get to know you better’?
It could also be because the boy you love ate up your first-ever baked disaster with relish (even though it reeked of cooking oil) just because “it was made with love”.
Whatever the reason, I am glad I have not turned into those calorie Nazis who NEVER even breathe the air around a sweet treat. Shudder! But that means more cake for people like us, so yaay!