CAKE WALK

Ok so now what? I gotta move this plot somewhere. Hello? I need a plot. I’m reluctant to write myself into a corner to have to follow the trajectory I laid out in a moment of stupidity, laziness, worse of all: hubris.

I wanna create a scene of pure sugar fantasy, I wanna write about a fanciful cake-walk. Worry about where it goes later, or maybe scrap it entirely? A pure escapist fantasy for sensualist and sweet tooths alike. Afternoon Tea taken to the 50th dimension. I don’t want to think about structure. I’ll think about dimensions and tone and style and some writerly drivel represented in a grandiloquent style.

What did I do? Whyyyy? she wailed above the fuzzy frothy sound.

Larkellen looked from Hi in her arms, to Bish whipping up one of her frostiebishcaff. “This must be serious!” She said to Hi who was squirming to get to his mom.

“Larkie, you gotta help me! Hi baby, you gotta relax, deep breaths, let’s all take a few rounds of breath. “ Bish demonstrated with exaggerated inhales , exhaling in gusts into her baby boy’s face. He began to laugh.

“ Baking a cake for Rox CHox’s cake walk? Wot in the entire world was I thinking? “ she made a face and HI jumped into her arms.

“Don’t worry, yer fer sure gonna impress her with yer skills Aunt Bish.” Larkellen replied loyally.

CAKE WALK: Cakes and confections of every kind of roccoco imagineering. Minimalist structures of shape and shade, an archictectural stack of jagged toffee layers on top of a brutalist slab of cake. WAR ZONE. Bish couldn’t help but love the shattered glass effect.

So you’re the famous Bish

So you’re the famous Rox

That old insignificant speck on the surface of a glimmering banquet resurfaced. Who am I? How did I get here? She was a fleck on the chandelier crystal looking down at the magnificent display. Roxy Chocsmith herself was standing in front of her, in her grace and splendor, with her movie star looks and flawless presentation. And I am a spiky post adolescent izquierdo. Despite the glorious day dress she was attired in. her youth, and her energy, her renewed prana and revamped karma.

At night I lie in bed willing myself to sleep and watching the silver-lined leaves outside my window, sometimes the luminesce of the moon infusing itself into the abundance and fantasy of deep sleep and vivid dreams;

I stood outside the Chateau, mansard roof sloping credibly, the slate shingles edged in slight iridiscence. Am I dead? Is this heaven? Had I arrived? Was this the nect plus ultra of my life’s experience. A guest and a participant In Sweet Treat Romance?

I looked down at the basket of apple shaped mini ckes, feeling insecure and exposed as I stood in front of the panoply of dessert fanasies and sweet emissions. Tables spread in sage green crushed velvet brilliant crystal and glass structures filled with hand crafted confections and patisserie. Buttons of chocolate orgasm, smooth symmetrical bars of fluffy goldvanilla cakes dusted in gilt sparkles Ruby toned tarts with glazed garnet centers banded in pate sablee that melts uncomplaining on the tongue. Meringues white and sloping like a dainty perfect cocktail glass.

And I show up with a basket of apple cupcakes, like a refugee little red riding hood fairy tale. However, I’m happy to say that my rose gold stack heel Mary Janes were en flique.

Roxy Chocsmith appeared she was dressed like the character in the Valentine’s Day episode, the one where she goes back to the 1890’s Paris? But she is also the mother of a guy I like, she thanked me for coming, and looked at the basket, at that point I became aware of a cohort of womeny women, lots of colorful glossy manicured nails that sounded like crickets in the background. I felt awkward and less than, but offered her the basket anyway.

“They’re salted caramel spice cake rolled in apple crisp.”

“Quite a mouthful” she said evasively, snatched one up and studied it. One girl was shrieking laughter, I wasn’t sure if it was at me.

On brand, welcome aboard

Then I woke up.