The Last Temptation of Cake

Honestly, at the time it seemed like a brilliant idea. Any pint-sized kid with a hankering for cake would agree. But now I felt trapped and saw no way out.

There I stood in the kitchen washing the dinner dishes like I was told, while my brothers were in the TV room watching Love American Style. They weren't expected to do "women's work" simply because they were born with a Y chromosome. To me it just didn't seem fair.

A few feet away from the sink was the remainder of tonight's dessert; half of a yellow cake with chocolate icing-my favorite. "Don't touch that cake while we're gone." That was the last thing my mother said before she and my father headed out for a neighborhood meeting. Perhaps it was the simple fact that she said not to touch it is what made it that much more irresistible. Or maybe it was because I felt I was unjustly sentenced to extra work. Whatever the reason, I found the temptation too much to bear.

As I washed the dishes, I found myself drawn to the cake as if it were seducing me. I tried to ignore my urges but that only seemed to make them grow stronger. Finally desire overcame willpower. First I ate the crumbs from the cake plate; then I nibbled around the edges of the cake; finally I sliced myself a paper thin piece of cake so no one would notice. But these things only temporarily brought satisfaction; I needed more.

That was when my brilliant idea hit me. I decided I would just lift up the top layer of the cake and eat the bottom layer. Then anyone looking at the cake would still see the fancy top layer and never realize what I had done. Yes, it was an absolutely brilliant plan in my mind; but, there was one problem I hadn't anticipated. My mother's beautiful two layer cake now looked more like something that came from an Easy Bake Oven. However, at this point there was no turning back so I finished the bottom layer and decided to let deal with the fallout later. Besides, there was always a chance my parents might not notice the cake was now half as tall.

Well, the first test of my plan came a few minutes later when my brothers came into the kitchen. They both stood in utter amazement at what I had done to the cake. I tried to pretend like nothing had happened but weren't buying my act in the least. "Even a blind man could see half that cake is missing," one exclaimed. Yes, I had gotten myself in a jam and my brothers found it quite amusing. They were now looking forward to my parents returning home so they could be the first to tell them what I had done. They each grabbed a chair and sat in the kitchen waiting, because the only thing better than watching TV was watching a sibling get in trouble.

Like I said, I felt trapped; and with each passing minute I felt more and more like there was no escape. Then the front door began to open and my heart leaped into my throat. My brothers sat there grinning and ready to rat me out; but just then I got another brilliant idea. I would beat them to the punch and confess myself. "Mom, Dad-I'm sorry," were the first words they heard as they walked in the door.

"What did you do?" My mother asked. I pointed toward the cake and she instantly became livid. "HOW-COULD-YOU?"

"I don't know what came over me...I just couldn't help myself." Then I just stood there not sure what they would do to me. Apparently my parents were just as confused as I was because they also stood there speechless. My brothers were disappointed I beat them to the punch but a good punishment would more than make up for that.

My father, who was a very stern disciplinarian, came up with a punishment that stunned all of us. "I want you to stand here and eat the other half of that cake."

"WHAT!" said my mother.
"WHAT!" said each of my brothers.
"REALLY!" said me!

My mother feeling like she was the injured party (and rightfully so considering she baked and cake and specifically told me not to touch it) protested because she considered the punishment was too lenient. But my father stood firm. "It will make her sick. Just watch."

So I proceeded to follow order and eat the top layer of the cake. My mother stormed off to her room in anger at his decision. My brothers sat their in complete disgust as I gloated whenever my father wasn't watching. And when he did watch, I'd drum up a few crocodile tears to convince him I was suffering; little did he know I had a cast iron stomach. Finally my brothers were so fed up with me they decided they'd rather watch TV.

After finishing the top layer, I naturally washed the cake plate. Yet this was one dish I didn't mind cleaning because it brought me sweet satisfaction. And as I stood over the sink I thought to myself "That was a brilliant idea...perhaps my best ever."