A few months ago, someone was trying to get my work friend Kaitlin to buy a lamb-shaped cake pan that they didn’t need anymore. Included in the email he sent to her was a picture of what the finished product could conceivably look like, so she sent it to Barb and me because it was so horrific-looking.
Of course I took to it immediately and tried to convince her that she really needed this cake pan, in spite of its exorbitant cost.
“Not for that price I don’t!” she assured me.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it though and even found one that was much more reasonably-priced. I didn’t buy it though because I figured it would just be another thing to nag Henry about.
“Clean the house.”
“Do the laundry.”
“Cook my dinner.”
“Propose to me.”
“Put this makeup on.”
“Bake me a fucking lamb cake.”
A lamb cake just might be what it takes to break Henry’s back and leave me single and helpless.
Anyhow, I dropped it, but the use I had for it was always still in the back of my mind.
For some reason today, I brought up the fact that Henry dropped the ball for my thirtieth birthday. I have some pretty deep-rooted esteem issues, so this isn’t something that I’ve gotten over yet. Probably won’t, either, without a hearty helping of therapy.
“You couldn’t even get me the only thing I wanted for my last birthday, a fucking black forest cake!” I cried petulantly.
“I couldn’t find anywhere to get one!” Henry yelled back.
“I gave you two months notice that I wanted one! You could have BAKED one, motherfucker.”
I was still bitching about how he didn’t even love me enough to bake me a stupid birthday cake when I arrived at work.
Feeling utterly sorry for myself the whole 10-floor elevator ride, I walked around the corner to my desk only to find a large box with a post-it that said Open Carefully.
“She’s here!” Barb announced, and people started coming out of their offices and crowding around. I couldn’t imagine what was going on.
It wasn’t my birthday.
It wasn’t my workiversary.
Was I getting fired and they were trying to soften the blow?
To throw me off even further, Chris chimed in and asked, “Did you get your hair cut?” and I found myself bracing for another one of Those Episodes where I slightly modify my appearance and everyone swarms around me with spotlights.
Apprehensive is one way to describe how I felt. There were maybe six people watching me expectantly. I reached for the box lid, because that’s what they kept probing me to do, and we all know I do as I’m told. But then Barb commanded me to wait as she hit play on The Whiffenpoof Song, so now not only did I have a surplus of hungry eyes feasting upon me, my every roboticly awkward movement was to the tune of singing Muppets.
Please don’t let it be a crappy spreadsheet, I thought, as I eventually buckled and ripped the lid off like the proverbial bandaid it was starting to become.
It took a few good seconds for it to sink it, that awesome pins-and-needles sensation of being sufficiently stunned. Then I laughed. Then I almost cried. Then I laughed some more.
Apparently, this had been in the works for awhile. Barb placed an in-house classified ad and found someone who was willing to lend her the cake pan. Kaitlin baked the cake and then some of my friends here helped decorate. Anytime one of the less in-the-know co-workers would inquire about the reason for the cake, they were told it was told for Chooch.
Because everyone here knows my kid is weird. It’s me they think is normal.
This, after the babyish argument I had just instigated in the car with Henry. Fuck you, Henry. SOME PEOPLE are willing to bake this bitch a cake. Even now, I keep pausing to look over at it adoringly. People kept suggesting I wrap it up and I was like “I AM NOT COVERING THIS, EVER!” (But apparently it’s because they thought it was actually going to be eaten. As if. I want this thing to petrify and sit on my fireplace mantel for the rest of ever.)
I’m just so unbelievably touched that my friends here would do this. It has officially become so much more than just a lamb cake, and I’m beyond stoked to put my plan into action this weekend. STOKED BEYOND BELIEF.
Oh Lamb Cake, mama’s got big plans for you.