Cake Capers

A few of you have asked me if I'm concerned about my in-laws reading my posts. I haven't been, but maybe I should be. (If they ever do, I'll be banned from their house.) My MIL has literally never even looked at a computer screen, so I'm not too concerned about her blog surfing. And my Father-in-Law just got rid of dial-up, so that tells you a lot about his internet savviness. If you happen to know the Dr. and Mrs., though, let's just keep these little stories to ourselves, shall we?

Speaking of which, I have a second update to the birthday visit from Jarvis' parents. I had made a birthday cake that afternoon, naturally, and planned to serve it back at our house after we returned from the restaurant with the kids and in-laws. We all ended up ordering a dessert, though, so I back-burnered the cake. I hadn't completely finished frosting it, anyway.

Jarv saw his parents the next day in the city and the first thing his mom said to him was, "I came all the way to Connecticut and your wife didn't even offer me a piece of cake!" This was, evidently, a slap in the face and shameful breach of etiquette. She was also ticked that Jarv hadn't packed a piece for her in his briefcase. (She does know that cake is available in New York city, right? I mean my baking is good, but not that good.... We're talking about a box cake, here, for Pete's sake.)

I had no idea she was so intent on the cake that night, although I should have considering her penchant for sweets. She gets a jonesin' for sugar the way a crack addict craves a fix. But right after a huge helping of tiramisu? And considering that she packed up half the cheese in the house to take with her, I'm aghast that she was too shy to inquire about the dessert.

Once again, I'm at a loss.

Note to self: when cake is in the house, always, always serve it. It doesn't matter if we've just come from a pie-eating contest and stopped for ice cream on the way home. Just serve the damn cake.