Someone stole my cake

It's true.

Someone stole my cake last week.

(Julia is tired of this story, but, well, too bad. There are women in the midwest who need to know about the stolen cake!)

Last Monday was my 30th birthday and my friend Erika made me a chocolate cake - from scratch! - with delicious cream-cheese frosting dusted with crushed Thin Mint cookie crumbles. The cake was special to begin with - it's been a long time since I've had not-from-a-box-or-a-restaurant cake - but then add to that the fact that Erika has three children under the age of 3.5 years old. I barely have time to brush my teeth twice a day, let alone bake anything, and here she is, 3 kids hanging from her arms and legs, and she's baking me a cake from scratch. I felt pretty special.

And this was, by far, the best chocolate cake I've had in years! Years! It was sweet and moist and chocolate-y. And YumYumYummy.

After partaking of the best cake ever with some of my coworkers, I put two pieces of cake on a paper plate, covered them in plastic wrap, set them quickly in the fridge at work, and ran off to a meeting. I was so excited to eat another piece of cake the next day and to bring a piece home for my husband to enjoy, too. It was a hectic day and I didn't bring the cake home that night...

The next morning, as I was setting up for more meetings, I opened the fridge and happened to glance at my plate of chocolate cake - the very yummy and did I mention special? cake. And on the paper plate sat one lonely piece of cake and one skid mark of cake where the second piece had been, and the plastic wrap was neatly tucked around the plate.

Who steals birthday cake from a pregnant lady?!?

No one has confessed to taking my cake and eating it, too, even though I'm pretty sure that everyone within a three block radius knew that I was not very happy with the disappearance of my cake.

I'm almost done being upset about it. Almost.