leftover Chocolate Cake

The breakfast of champions!! Especially when thick and yummy with mum’s classic buttercream frosting, T actually called our mum two nights ago so he could make me a vintage Gibbons family birthday cake and it was perfect! He didn’t handwrite happy birthday Andrea in another colour of frosting, but I love those little sugar letters so it was just as good…and funnier than I am used to:

I have grown accustomed to being called the beast…though as lovely, fragile, and sweet as I am, I have absolutely no relation to the creature who lurked on the other side of the high fence in The Sandlot and ate baseballs. I have come to recognize that boys are irrational however, so I don’t mind, and I did love the “yippie” and the “woo”, apparently there weren’t enough letters to spell out the Robert Burns poem on the wee timerous beastie that T originally planned for so yippie and woo had to do. We had party food last night and they put up balloons on the wall for me, T put Marty Robbins on the Cd player for a bit of nostalgia…we grew up with marty robbins as he is one of my mum’s favourites, and all of us still tend to sing along when she plays it in the car, it’s very funny. Well, Laura finds it really funny, I find it absolutely natural and normal and cool. I got some Iain Banks books and a pair of shorts with my Mark’s and Spencers gift vouchers, I have every faith in my luck and global warming and can’t wait to wear them! T read me some of the stuff he’s been writing, 4 of the 6 of us in the family are aspiring writers, I think it must be a record…so much aspiration and so little accomplishment, though it’s only cause our genious goes unrecognized. Apart from Brian Adams who thinks we are the most intimidatingly brilliant family he’s ever met, and he told me that while drunk so I know it’s absolutely true. Dan can back me up on that, he’s Dan’s friend anyways. Besides, his name is Brian Adams, so clearly he has no problems or unrecognized genious of his own.

Well, still working selling underwear, though I need to come up with an alternate story, because when I tell men in the pub what I do they get this happy sort of glazed look and make bad jokes. But I am writing the best fucking story I’ve ever written, that alone has made this the best birthday of all time and entirely validated the mad decision to move to scotland to sell underwear…

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