I stay up too late the night before baking a cake for Kacy's birthday. It's a tight day, but since I baked the cakes on Sunday night, they'll be cool enough to fill and frost on Monday morning.
Oh, my. When I awake I find that not one, but both of the cake layers have become some child's breakfast. Kalli and Lisa urge me to pull a Cliff Huxtable and use paper towels to make up the difference, frosting the cake to disguise the ruse.
I bake two new cakes. I'm hours behind.
The child is sentenced to be our chore slave for the week, and is absolutely, positively, grounded. This is the week he'll learn to do the dishes and properly clean a kitchen.
Since Kacy doesn't know that I am baking cakes for her surprise party that evening, she invites me to meet her for lunch at Smashburger. I always order the mushroom and swiss when I go to Smashburger. Every time for the past three years it's a mushroom and swiss. I never change. Except this Monday I decide, in a rush of exhaustion and emotional recklessness, to order the jalapeno burger with chipotle something or other. Not content with driving the Thunderbird close to the edge, I floor the gas over the cliff, and order an Oreo shake.
The last time I ate a burger AND a shake together was my first visit to In-and-Out. I decided, in an ill-advised show of bravado, to order a double-double, animal style, with animal style fries, and a chocolate shake. I laid in the floor of my cubicle in that summer of 2009 in pain with my co-workers laughing. It took me three years to come even close, with that Oreo shake and jalapeno burger. It was good (not as good as the mushroom and swiss,) but I still had to practice my dance moves for Kacy's flashmob later that night, and to finish her cake. And take my kids to the dentist. And work, and everything else we all do everyday that fills up the hours until they are bursting as if from fries, shakes, and ground red meat.