Cake hate

My mission was a lemon dessert for the Hatchett Family Easter Dinner.  My dessert of choice was cake.  I envisioned the round contour of the top and the sleek, straight sides plunging toward a etched glass pedestal.  The cake would be moist and light, scented with lemon zest and love.  The filling would be strawberry, tangy and sweet, complimenting the delicate ribbons of lemon cream cheese frosting piped so beautifully around the borders of the cake.  Pastel spotted eggs would line the border to complete the work of art.

At least, that's what I wanted to make.  Instead, I made this:

All was going well until I began to stack the cake and it crumbled in my hands.  I tried to piece it back together and thought my repair attempt was successful, but when I began to dirty ice the sides of the cake the segments of the middle layer began to separate.  It was like watching a plate tectonics horror film.  The more I frosted, the more cake chucks drifted apart while gooey strawberry lava oozed out from the depths of the confection.  In my anger, I picked it up and screamed, "I'm so mad I'm going the throw this on the floor!"  And I was, had Paul not rushed to my side and snatched the cake from my trembling hands.

Cake in the garbage

I think next time I'll stick to cupcakes. . .

Me covered in frosting