I love baking. A lot. Yesterday, I baked a cake for a family
party. All was coming out roses until it came time to frost.
I'm not gonna lie: I've never frosted my own cake before.
Decorating I can do, but putting down the frosting canvas
is not my specialty. As I frosted the cake, it fell apart on me.
It turned out fine in the end, but it wasn't nearly as pretty
as the cakes my friend always frosts for me. As I lamented
her absence, I really wished I had her there to frost my cake.
I pour in the water and oil.
Mixing, mixing, turning, and whisking--
the batter splatters the counter, the bowl
and my hair.
The smooth satin mixture tumbles into the mold,
then I shut the oven door.
Heat and rising, wait and harmonizing.
The clock dings done, cooling commences,
the filling and frosting await.
Assembly begins, the filling goes in, the layers
form their spire--the cake goes up, to scrape the
sky as it goes higher and higher.
As soon as I step back to admire
it buckles and frowns--under the frosting
the facade topples
down.
I didn't have the perfect hand,
to frost my cake and it still stand.
At the baking and assembling I'm well adept,
but I always fail at this important step;
so next time I venture out to bake,
I'll bring a friend to
frost my cake.
