When good things happen to bad cake.

Sometimes, you try to bake a cake, and nothing goes right.
You forget to set the eggs out so they can reach room temperature.
Your unsalted butter is frozen.

Sometimes, you try to make a cake, and you choose a recipe you've never used before.
And you know you shouldn't.
Because you tell people all the time that if you're making something important, make something you know.
But you don't listen to yourself.

Sometimes you try to make a cake and you're out of parchment paper, and you know the bottom of the cake is going to stick in the pan.
And it does.

Sometimes, you try to make a cake and you remember to halve the leavening,
but you forget to increase the oven temperature.

Sometimes, you try to make a cake red.
But you have to keep adding more and more coloring to get it to the color you want.
And you know you're stirring the cake TOO MUCH.
And you know it is going to be as tough as a dense sponge.
And it is.
And it isn't red.

Sometimes, you try to make a cake and you get so worked up,
that you want to throw the cake across the room.
And your mixer.
And the red food coloring.
And the pieces of the cake that got left in the bottom of the pan.
Because, technically, you're genetically predisposed to throwing things.
And you knew the tendency would set in eventually.

Sometimes, you make a cake, and you don't invite any of your friends over to share it.
Because you're so ashamed of your work.
And you don't want them to form opinions about your baking abilities.
And then you feel shallow.

Sometimes, you make a cake and you disguise its horribleness under a pretty layer of frosting.
Because you happen to be pretty good at frosting.
Because you've had to cover up a few horrible cakes in your day.

Sometimes, you make a horrible cake.
And everybody who eats it likes it.
(Because the cook is really the only one who cares.)
And you're secretly mad that everybody likes it.
And then you remember that you should probably be on some sort of anti-depressant.
And then maybe you wouldn't be so mad.

Sometimes, you make a cake.
A hot pink cake.
Because it is your daughter's birthday.
And she loves it.
Because she's two.
And she doesn't understand the concept of a delicate crumb.

Sometimes, you try to make a cake, and nothing goes right.
But in the end, the only thing that matters,
Is that you made it.