When people ask me what brought me to France, I smile and reply, “Sorry to be such a cliché, but love. Love brought me here.” My true love is rich, has impeccable taste, and is always there when I’m happy or down in the dumps.
My stud muffin, my sugar drop, the centrepiece to my life is Cake.
Cake and I had been friends for a long time but of course, I’m usually friends with everyone: Ice cream, Biscuit, and Sweetie.
There were times when I did fancy a piece of Cake, but Cake definitely stayed in the friend zone. We lost touch until we met again in France. Cake invited me to this really fancy place in Paris called Ladurée. Surrounded in its sumptuous green and gold gilded decor, I felt a trifle bit underdressed, when in the flash of a pan, in walked Cake. Dressed like a vision in a thousand layers.
“Hey girl, long time no see, how do you like my outfit? I call it Le Millefeuille.”
Seeing such a decadent vision before me, I can tell you, I was ready to peel every layer off of Cake right there and then.
From then on, wherever Cake was, I wanted a slice of the action. Cake whisked me away to many places:
Being with my Cake became a Religieuse affair. Every moment took me to high heaven and I thank Saint Honoré for bringing my Angel Cake into my life.
You’re now probably thinking, all this Cake you’re having, isn’t this love sickly sweet?
I can only reply, that being with Cake makes me feel flantastic. Our relationship rose like a three-tiered wedding cake. We were committed.
Ice cream, sweets, biscuits. They’re the ones that are friendzoned now.
Happily together, Cake took me to somewhere special: Hotel Sacher in Vienna. The birthplace of Cake’s best friend, Sachertorte. I torte it was going to be amazing. Yet, I hate to say this, Sachertorte turned out to be a horrible crêpe. This “best friend” was the complete opposite to Cake: dry, tasteless, and plain-looking.
Then I met other of Cake’s crockpot friends:Battenberg cake battered everyone; Fruit cake and Marble cake were both craaaaazy, and Pavlova kept making a palaver out of everything.
After that, our relationship started crumbling apart. You can even say that it went stale. Before I knew it one thing knead to another and I did something bad. I had a fling. A ménage à trois: Me, Chocolate, and Crisps. Everything happened so fast though.
I was in Shanghai and I bumped into this curious duo: Chocolate-covered Potato Crisps. As I’m never afraid to mix things up, I just rolled with it. The saltiness of Crisp combined perfectly with the bittersweetness of Chocolate. It was a mouthwatering experience. My love for Cake fell flat as a pancake. However, I got my just desserts because, like all passionate flings, this quickly burnt to a crisp. I was in butter despair.
I missed Cake.
Then just when I thought I had lost my love flourever, Cake appears, dressed up like a decadent vision. “Hey girl, why have two things when you can have a thousand layers?”
“Oh Cake, I adough you!”
Everything panned out alright.
Love isn’t sickly sweet. It’s flantastic.