…Instead of browsing City Lights delights, I am sitting in my pajamas, enjoying fudge cake and he (Quintessential Single Guy Safeway Shopper) is home masturbating, and not about me. Guaranteed.
I am 36, and am At That Age where men on the street are done gawking and have taken to ignoring… except for a 7-foot homeless Black guy I passed earlier on the way home from Mara’s Italian Pastry, clutching my 3-layer dark chocolate fudge cake as if it was my first-born: in fact, I was hugging it tighter than I would a child — how hard is it to get knocked up compared with finding orgasm-inducing chocolate cake?
“Hello, Gorgeous,” said Homeless Guy… which were the same words I had uttered to the cake, when I eyed it behind the glass of the bakery. I shook my head no, and murmured, “Farewell, my Love… Endeavour to think well of me, as I will of you… Always” to the Black Forest Cake, with its dark chocolate shavings, the crispy chocolate custard eclairs, and airy – nay! – buxom cream puffs. Having departed with them on good terms, I could not begrudge them the company of others. Or could I? They had better be there tomorrow, waiting for me, I thought jealously. Or better yet, not: for pastry, unlike men, is best when fresh, is it not?