The Birthday Cake
When I was either 3 or 4, my Dad made me a birthday cake for my birthday. I was very excited to have my cake, but I had to wait until the next evening after my parents got home from work to have it. My Daddy had come home from work and laid down on the couch. I happened to walk through the kitchen and saw an empty cake pan on the counter. I was devastated and angry. Daddy had eaten all my cake. I promptly marched into the living room and right up to my dad. I then punched him square in the nose yelling "You ate all my cake!" Dad, nursing a now bloody nose, manages to tell me that he actually baked 2 cakes. One he took to work and the other one, for me, was in the fridge. My reply, "Oh, ok." Then I walked off. Moral of the story: Don't touch my cake. ;o)
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