, , , , , ,

Under her mother’s watchful eye, the little girl measured out the flour, butter and sugar, and broke the eggs carefully into a cup. She mixed it all up just right, and tipped the gloopy mixture into the cake tins.

Her mother heated up the oven, put the cake in the centre, and set the timer.

When it came out, she watched anxiously as her mother took the cakes out of the tins, and set them on a rack to cool. She mixed up her icing, adding a little bit too much food colouring, and put the cake together with jam in the middle and icing on the top.

The cake took pride of place in the centre of the table at teatime, and the little girl smiled eagerly as everybody took a slice.

They smiled back as they declared it to be delicious.

As soon as she turned away, they hid their plates quickly, not daring to take another bite for fear of instant diabetes or broken teeth.

© Kari Fay

(Author’s Note- Sunday Scribblings offers the prompt “Cake” today. I made terrible cakes when I was a little girl – even though I followed the recipe precisely, they always came out like solid rock!)