A Beast Awaits

A beast has infiltrated my house. He’s been here for about a week now, and has the ability to shape shift. He’s taken different forms over the last week, and has beaten me to a pulp.

His attacks vary in degree. Sometimes he creeps up on me subtly, sometimes a full frontal guerilla style attack that leaves me huddled in the kitchen floor short of breath and crying, desperately trying to find my happy place. As I lay there, weeping, I clutch tightly to the only weapon I can find to defeat the beast, a shiny tined fork.

I speak of The Birthday Cake Monster. A vicious combatant capable of slaying the most iron willed men and women amongst the human race. His forms this week have varied. From a quaint, unassuming white cake with pretty multi-colored butter cream icing, to a massive, hulking heavy multi-layered German Chocolate Cake. Its latest incarnation is in the form of a Lemon Cake dripping with lemon frosting, and has even appeared as delicious Valentine’s sugar cookies. A devilish master of disguise is he.

He’s called to me this week as I sit, studying on the couch. Perched like a gothic gargoyle on top of the refrigerator, he taunts me, calling me names, telling me how sissy I look sitting there sipping my water. Telling me a real man would be elbow deep in a slab of baker’s dreams with crumbs falling from the mouth. I turn, giving the Birthday Cake Monster a nervous eye, trying to keep focused on the task at hand, but he’s too strong. He pummels me with icing fist, and moist cake layered roundhouse kicks with Chuck Norris like lethal precision. The beatings are quick and precise, and end just as quickly as they began. The beast tosses me back to the couch in a pathetic heap of sobbing shattered will. I lick my wounds and picture myself looking similar to Professor Klump from “The Nutty Professor” attempting to drink a mason jar full of M&M’s. I try and gather myself and regain my will power.

But there will be another battle, another fight. The Demon will call to me, and I will engage with fiery passion. Raising my fork and give a mighty yawp, I will run to the kitchen eager to dispatch my enemy with the gnashing of teeth, the clattering of metal fork weaponry and ceramic plate shield.

For defeat is sweet. Oh wait….that should be the other way around. Oh well. It’s still pretty sweet.