Ten days ago I turned six million years old and my colleagues baked me cakes. Since sugar is clearly my soulmate (and also the reason why I’ll be forever alone) this made me extremely happy. The spanish team and the italian one opted for some crunchy chocolate cake and a delicate strawberry one.
And then another french colleague baked me a delicious heartshaped brownie sprinkled with tiny chocolate hearts. Given that her previous cake was an evil work of art all this cheesiness looked suspicious to say the least. Either the brownie was poisoned or I needed to look closer.
Aftre a couple of seconds I realized what the red sugary decoration on the cake was about (I’ll give you a hint: not a heart) and had the following conversation with my friend Eric.
Eric: Is it just me or I see a penis?
Me: Oh, that. Yeah, it’s there.
Eric: And is there a particular reason why a french girl would draw a penis on your birthday cake?
Me: Don’t know. She probably wanted to draw something that I like, and Starry Night by Van Gogh looked too difficult.
These cakes are professionally wicked. She could seriously open a cake business in Berlin. I bet business would be booming. I’d order the penis/brownie cake in a second. Maybe for a baby shower? Congrats! It’s a boy.
She definitely might. I just hope they don’t arrest her for her cakes.