Mini-Birthday Cakes and Logarithms

Last Saturday, I set out to bake a mini-birthday cake for my friend, Chris. Right away, my other friend, Greg, suggested that I BUY one, citing logistical efficiency (he’s a physician). We’re empathetic to one another’s circuitous, logarithmic, thought processes. We have a tendency to turn really simple projects into rocket science, if only in our thoughts. We can’t help it.

For example: I WANT to bake a mini-cake, but once I open the BOX of cake mix, shouldn’t I bake more than one? This requires that I BE in the kitchen for a time to conjure up something edible (I’m breaking out in hives just THINKING about the potential confusion).

I didn’t really want to go to the store to pick up the necessities. Maybe I'd find something in the pantry which I'd overlooked.  Nope. Ten cans of soup, a boatload of spices, flour, rice, chips and peanut butter, but NONE of the ingredients I needed for the mini-cake. By the way, baking a mini-cake SEEMED like a mini-no-brainer endeavor.

After I ate a PB and J sandwich (my fave), I headed to the store for FOUR things: eggs, cake mix, canned frosting and milk. Once in the market, I thought: shouldn’t  I buy groceries for next week, too?  Yes.  So, I finished shopping, happy with a basket filled to the brim with my grand purchase. 

Hey! The drycleaner is yonder; I’ll pick up my clothes. While I’m out, I’ll fill up the Surfmobile with gas. The station offers a real car wash, RIGHT  THERE! Shouldn’t  I have the car hand-polished, too?  Indeedy; returning a few phone calls while I waited. 

My accountant reminded me to drop off some tax documents (my 2012 taxes are done, though). Friends invited me surfing and to a bar-be-que , Easter weekend. My son asked me to chauffer him to an impromptu, school event, because no one else in the whole, wide world could do so; please, please, please?

The Surfmobile gleaming, I drove home to drop off the groceries.  Since I was taking my son to Temecula, shouldn't I change into my workout gear? While he’s busy at school, I’d be at the nearby gym until he’s done. Thus, I avoided driving, back and forth. Smart.

When I picked up Juan, he said he was hungry. So was I. The accountant’s office was on the way to Miguel’s. When we finally arrived at the restaurant, I’d say my son and I conversed, but his circuitous, logarithmic thoughts were expressed on Facebook via his cellphone, which was glued to the palm of his hand.  I opted for a soliloquy.

After I dropped my son off at his dad’s house, I headed back to my kitchen in Menifee. My cell phone chimed, reminding me that I had an early evening, casual meeting slated.  I kept the appointment, gym clothes and all. It took longer than anticipated, so the group decided to go out to dinner at Coco’s. The company was so enthralling, I didn’t get home until late.

Remember the mini-birthday cake? I brewed some tea and put the groceries away. The cake batter was the EASY part. I cleaned the kitchen, sorted the mail and skimmed through a magazine. Greg called. 

We coordinated our Sunday journey to Chris’s house to celebrate his birthday. Greg ensured that the GPS on the Porsche coincided with the route on his phone, which is confirmed by the latitude and longitude of basic (archaic), cartography. Then I bid goodnight and went to sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, I intuitively knew something was awry, but I didn't know WHAT. I took an early-morning, bike ride and then I went to church. Greg showed up in the afternoon, sharing all of his GPS know-how over a cup of coffee.

“Sooo, Lyn...where’s Chris’s cake? We have to go…” Greg reminded me.

Long, long, longer pause, then howling laughter.

“I know exactly WHERE the cake is. Don’t say you told me so,” I warned Greg. 

I did all of the right things in MAKING the mini-birthday cake, but I forgot to ignite the oven. I threw six mini-cakes in the trash. They looked and tasted sooo good in the logarithm floating in my head.

“Mea culpa. We can stop off at the store on the way out, but let me plug it into GPS first,” said Greg.

“We can see the store from here,” I sighed. 

“I know, I know. It just depends on what kind of cake we want and where we've got to go to get it,” he said.

“How about a BIG, decorated cake that’s rockin’ and rollin’, ready to go, just around the corner?” I asked (rhetorically).

“Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, marble?  Sheet, round, layered, filled, frosted? Menifee or Canyon Lake or…?” Greg answered.  

Baskin Robbins. Decorated cake, filled with ice cream – a veritable two-fer.  So, it circuitously, logarithmically goes.  Happy Birthday, Chris.  We’ll see you when we return from Santa Barbara.

(Photos taken from Google: mini-birthday cakes).