Cake of Satan

It’s been a very long time since I baked a cake and I’m not sure if it’s the length of time since my last cake that caused this error, or the fact that I was baking the cake at 6:30 in the morning on a Sunday, but I forgot about the little rule of cake baking whereby the cake pan is filled only half-way with batter to allow for the cake to rise.  I remembered that little rule when I removed the cake out of the oven at the end of the baking time and found the middle still liquid.  I scraped the top off of each pan, stuck it back in the oven and hoped for the best.

After I cleaned up the kitchen, I took my trusty Dork Cart to the grocery store and got all the ingredients for dinner.  On the way home, my butter fell out of the cart.  I noticed when I was putting out the bread for dinner.  Fuck you, Dork Cart.

The rest of the day went like this:

At 9:30 I began to prepare a lasagna.  At 10:30 Remax called asking if an agent could show the house at 11:30.  I assembled the lasagna at warp speed and got it into the fridge just in the nick of time to take a quick shower and get the hell out of the house.

At 12:00 our Hamilton agent arrived and we signed an offer on a beauty of a house

From 2:00 – 3:30 our house was being shown.

At 3:45 our Hamilton agent called to say, "Les, we got problems."  A competing offer on the house we were submitting on.

At 4:00 our Toronto agent arrived with an offer on our house which we signed back.

At 4:30 some more people turned up to look at the house but we couldn’t leave because we were expecting guests.

From about 4:30 – 5:30 we had a huge fight complete with hysterics.  To everyone who’s heard me say "I’m really not that stressed" since our house went on the market: I am now officially stressed.

At 5:45 Chris and Jules and Angus and Linds arrived.  We said, "Here are some chips and wine.  If the timer on the oven dings before we get back just take the lasgana out and eat it" and we ran out to receive a fax (a revised offer) from our Hamilton agent at our Toronto agent’s office, sign it and fax it back so he could present it to the homeowner at 6:00.

At 6:00 we get home.  Our guests seem to be having a good time.  Much drinking and frivolity ensues.  It was really great to catch up with those guys since we have been buried in house stuff since the summer and haven’t really seen anybody. 

6:30, dinner is served.

6:45, we didn’t get the house.  I consider slitting my wrists.  We lost to another couple from Toronto.  Motherfucker.  I am pissed but smug because at least I am right about people moving to Hamilton.  I told you so.

It was very dramatic to get that news with your friends sitting around the table all hush-hush, signalling for a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down but I think we would have been much more sad if they hadn’t been there to cheer us up.  Chris gave me the old, "Ah well, then that wasn’t the right house Les.  The right house is still waiting for you."  And I really appreciated his efforts. 

Then we played bongos and and drank more wine and ate Kev’s belated devil’s food birthday cake which tasted fine despite the baking disaster.  And it was a fine birthday celebration I think, albeit a just a wee bit more exciting than any rational person would have planned for!

What do you think?

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