Happy Birthday B, or: Karma’s a Bitch

I have a confession to make. I have a mild syndrome of Clark Griswold Syndrome. I have these grand ideas and in my head I’m capable of anything. Bake a homemade cake and decorate it beautifully? I can TOTALLY DO THAT.

Tomorrow is B’s birthday. I had a plan. I got the recipe. I would tint white frosting blue (B’s favorite color) and I would ice alphabet cookies to write out “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and it will be SO cute and everyone will ask where did you buy that and I will totally casually mention that I made it from scratch. During my 50 hour work week. In heels. And pearls. No big deal.

That was the plan, anyways.

Then I got to the grocery store and the frozen strawberries were REALLY freakin’ expensive and I realized I don’t own a blender or a puree-er(? what are those called???) and I’d probably end up with a $15 lumpy bad cake. So I wussed out and got a strawberry cake mix. But then I couldn’t find the alphabet cookies. And I am WAY better than buying the premade “Happy Birthday” sugar letters so I got creative. Top-chef-style. I would improvise and it would be AWESOME.

So I got chocolate chips and had fantasies of making elaborate borders and spelling out “Happy Birthday B” and I am brilliant. Except I’m not. And it didn’t really work. I kind of ran out of room and the chips are hard to read and it kind of looks like it belongs here. Which is ironic because I–on a not infrequent basis–peruse that site and laugh at all the ridiculously ugly cakes.

And then I make this.

Karma is a fickle bitch.

p.s. Yes, that is my dirty stove. Don’t judge.


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