Apparently it's my destiny to fly through parenthood by the seat of
my pants. Ooh, there's a surprise. I've never once made a plan that
stuck, or visualized a glorious future for myself-in-five-years and
watched it blossom into fragrant completion. I just make it up as I go
along, but Jackson's birthday this year took the cake.
Cake! Ha ha! The day before his birthday I strolled into the grocery
store. There was no one at the cake counter. I rousted a guy from the
deli counter who gave me the distinct impression that he'd had a very
long and unstimulating day. Deli Guy found Cake Guy in the back, and
Cake Guy informed me -- I detected apprehension in his body language,
he lowered one shoulder and ducked his chin -- he informed me that that
there was no one on duty who could write "Happy Birthday Jackson" in
icing on a pre-made cake, and (pugnaciously narrowing his eyes) such a
person would not be available until Friday, the day after Jackson's
birthday.
The guy had a good read on me. I was steamed.
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