There Is No Greater Struggle Than The Fight For Cake

A few weeks ago in my Saturday morning stuttering therapy group, our therapist mentioned that we wouldn't be meeting for a few weeks. She said something about having to go to a few conferences, but I suspect she is seeing another group on the side. I catch her turning around to peek out the blinds around 11:30, and she is very insistent about us leaving at noon.

Once, group ran until 12:15 and she made us walk out the back door wearing our jackets over our heads. She said, "Pretend the paparazzi are trying to catch you stutter." While it was fun, I figured out the truth on the car ride home after my jacket slipped over my eyes and I almost ran into a telephone poll.

Someone proposed in the meantime we get together on a weeknight, November 30^th. My birthday. Five years ago, I would have never mentioned my birthday was the same day. When you're extremely self-conscious, the thought of dozens of pairs of eyes staring at you while they holler a ballad honoring the day of your birth is mortifying.

That was before I got my first full-time job and learned a valuable lesson. You find a way to mention your birthday is coming up, you get cake. You don't, no cake.

Furthermore, if you don't mention your birthday and next week a co-worker asks about your weekend, and you let it slip out that you went out with a few friends to celebrate your birthday, you will become a social pariah. Because not only did you deny yourself cake, but you denied the whole office cake as well, in addition to an hour or two off of work.

In short time that part of my self-consciousness quickly eroded to make room for an altruistic desire to use my birthday to further in my own small way the global consumption of cake products. So when my stuttering posse, after rejecting half a dozen dates to meet and finally arriving at a day that miraculously seemed to work with everyone else asked for my acquiescence, I decided to play hard ball.

"Hmm. I'm not sure I can make it then. The 30^th is my birthday."

"What's that? Celebrate my birthday too? But by what manner do you propose...oh. Cake. Well, let me ponder upon your proposal for a moment. Hmm. While you do have my deepest gratitude for your offer of eating plain cake on my birthday, I fear I must...yes? Hmm-mmm? Chocolate cake? With sprinkles? What a novel idea. You know, I do believe I will be able to reschedule my plans for the 30^th. For the good of the group."

So I got my cake. There it was, sitting next to several platters and trays of food and a humongous cake, Cake Sr., to celebrate the one of my friends in the group moving to Princeton next month. Mary, the sucker who bought me the cake, lit a candle on Cake Jr. and they sung Happy Birthday. Then someone handed me a piece. I laughed. Ha! I'm not actually going to eat the cake! I just wanted someone to buy it for me.

Nine-tenths of the cake is now sitting on my counter. It's a waste, but I wouldn't have had it any other way.