Nikki makes cakes.  They are very cool.

They are pretty awesome, just look at those suckers.  Everybody loves them, there is lots of evidence of this.  Not me.  I hate them.

It’s not that I hate how they taste, but I do.  I find them too sweet, in general.  Cake is ruined by all that toothache-inducing icing.  Cake wouldn’t nearly have the reputation it has if we always just served it without icing.  But this post is not about the taste of cake.

I’m jealous of cake because of the time it takes away from my life.  When Nikki sets out to make a cake for someone (and in all honesty it’s always someone we are very close to, and to those people who have received a cake recently or are about to receive a cake, please realize that I don’t hate you, in fact the very reason you got a cake is because we love you, but it’s actually your stinking disgusting terrible birthday cake that I hate), it takes HOURS of planning from concept design, shopping for the right supplies and props, and then baking the damn thing.  Then comes the worst part: Hundreds of curse-filled hunched over bleary hours assembling, rolling, smoothing, agonizing, trimming, all the while gibbering and gnashing and shrieking.

Note that I do all of this while Nikki calmly, cheerfully and efficiently makes the cake, occasionally asking me to gibber more quietly.

It’s not that she sucks at making cakes, she’s really really good at it, it’s that by the end of that damn cake I am jealous of the time she spends on it and not me.  There, I said it.  Cake making time is after all the other things have been done, time that should be spent on me, obviously.  I deserve that time, clearly, because I am far more interesting, not as crumby (usually), less demanding (just), and contain fewer calories.

In conclusion, cake has done nothing for me, and for that, I hate, yes, hate it.

I feel better now.