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Duncan is having a dog-themed birthday party on Saturday. Just now, he noticed me leafing through the Baker’s Catalogue, and spied an elegant dark chocolate bundt cake with a glossy deep chocolate glaze. He asked me if I would make him that for his birthday. I said, “Well . . . I was going to make you a pawprint cake to go along with the dog theme, remember?”
He thought for a second, and then his whole face brightened. With a cherubic smile (and with no sense that he was about to say something disgusting) he said, “We could tell them that it was dog poop!” I guess his longing for elegant cakes is not the marker of the sophisticated young gentleman I momentarily (nanosecond) thought he was.
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