The cake that broke my heart

It is your church's 10th birthday. You decide to bake a small cake, to bring to church.. because everyone is expected to bring a plate of something.

You see a nice picture of a vanilla cake... and you go ahead... But it is a mess. In a quick last minute job, you make extra icing to cover up the crumbly bits.

The icing is sticky. The cake looks bad, and you suspect that you will never make it as a cake decorator. It looks toxic. But it is too late now.

How to transport the cake to church? It can not go in glad wrap or bag, the icing will stick. What if it falls over in the car? You envision the mess it would make. You coax your brother to hold it while you drive him to Chinese school.. and the rest of the way to church.. well you will just rely on the Good Lord.

You find out once you arrive that his Chinese school has changed locations. You quickly drive away, and get lost as you think you know a short cut but you don't. You arrive at the new location half an hour late. Oh crud... now you have to speed, and you have that cake on the floor. In the hot sun, the butter in the icing is starting to melt. You turn on the air-con, and you can feel your sensitive skin drying up and having an autoimmune fit. Double crud.

You see it moving as you drive... the drive to church never seemed so long before. It did not fall over, a mess was not made. (praise the lord!) You finally arrive... the church service has started. There is no where to park. Triple crud. You sneak to the rear hall, where the food is. All the food looks immaculate. Their cake is without crumbly bits. Yours is melted and dribbly and toxic. You want to cry. Thankful to the lord that no one is watching, you put the cake down and run away, glad that no one saw you with that dreadful cake. You cause a minor disturbance as you try find a seat in the crowded service hall, when everyone else is giving thanks. You also want to give thanks, but you need a place to sit first. After you're settled, you reflect upon that cake. I hope you're happy, Vanilla Cake, you broke my heart... you think... I am never making cake again.

After the service, it's time to eat. You do not see your cake on the table that you put it, and you dare not go looking for it. Perhaps some wise, kind-hearted, sensible wife of some elder (or something) has discretely taken it and put it away in the bin. You are glad - you don't want to confront it ever again.

The worst part is, even though you've had a hellish morning, you can't tell anyone about it. That would mean admitting you've made a cake, and then they would want to see the cake, and that must be avoided at all costs. So, you grit your teeth, and bear it. And when someone asks you how you are: "I'm fine. Just fine."