I was a little concerned about the two-cake situation, but the Butcher and the Red-headed Kid sat down last night each with a bowl full of a huge piece from both cakes and a large mound of ice cream. Each of them had tiny mountains of chocolaty goodness in their laps.
The Red-headed Kid was remarking about how, with his luck, this cake would probably kill him. We still talk a lot about death with the Red-headed Kid–me because I’m morbid as hell and him because he’s still getting used to the idea that he might not die before he’s 30. But we both decided that “Killed by delicious cake” would be an epitaph we would be proud to have on our headstones.
I am envious of their ability to eat that much cake in one sitting. It looked, from the other end of the couch, marvelously decadent.