If one ever questions my devotion to cakes and my small baking business, boy, have I got stories to tell you.
Okay, they are less stories than they are actual incidents that have occurred over time.
And by incidents, I really mean accidents.
From fender benders (one happened 4 days ago on the way to a cupcake delivery and one of my front tyres exploded from the impact and the back tyre cracked as well) to bodily harm I’ve caused myself that are baking or cake-related. In fact, all the mishaps I’ve experienced in the last 5 years are solely because of cakes.
The worst one has to be this crack I currently have in between my crack, rather literally. You know how when you’re consciously being extraordinarily careful, and that’s when shit happens? Like whenever you wear white and you always end up with a splotch of curry the shape of Ireland on your top? No?
Anyway, 3 days ago, I was walking down a flight of stairs with a cake in my hand, and somehow missed a step and slid down the stairs. My first instinct was to save the cake and whilst the cake was every bit intact, I landed pretty hard on my tailbone.
Sure, my ass was a little sore, but it didn’t hurt too bad. Not until a couple of hours later, at least, and by then I could barely walk. A shoddily done X-ray shows a somewhat misaligned coccyx, where the doctor suspects a crack. The diagnosis is currently not definitive owing to the poor X-ray quality, but another X-ray so soon wasn’t recommended due to radiation exposure. One thing’s for sure — painkillers are my best friends at the moment.
I’ve certainly been down on my luck the past week, and it makes me wonder if it’s the universe’s way of telling me I need a break and rest from the cake life. And then I asked myself, who am I without cakes?