It is not every day that I get a marriage proposal. Today, I did. From a 50s-ish teacher who loved the carrot cake I baked for my colleague's birthday. "You bake?" she said. "Will you marry me?" She used to be a model, too. Thirty years ago.
I don't really "bake." I have cereal for dinner most nights, and a veggie burger and raw carrots or broccoli on other nights nights. But it was my friend's birthday - the same friend who lost her father and grandfather in the last month - and since she's always one to make sure a cake shows up on the table for others, I wanted to make sure the same happened for her. And it was cheaper to bake one than to buy one pre-made. All I did was follow the instructions on the box, and it only took about an hour total.
I must say, it was pretty good. However, it was one of the ugliest cakes you're ever going to see. I tried to write "Happy Birthday Rose" on it but it was scrawled so messily that it looked like the work of a kindergardener's. "Well," the friend said, laughing. "That's why you became a teacher and not a cake decorator." Words of wisdom.
After work, we headed to Los Amigos, a little Mexican place very close to my house. Great food and margaritas, as usual, but it's one of those places where the bill skyrockets (8 people, $167) without anyone noticing, and you can't really doublecheck if the server screwed up because none of the prices are enumerated on the ancient-style receipt. Oh well. We paid.
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