“What is this?” She asked.
He looked at the plate in his hands, “your birthday cake?” Her eyes became wide, mouth falling open.
“It looks like you sat on it?”
“How dare you! I spend hours making it!” He screamed. The ‘cake’ was a burnt brown, with crusty black edges and looked almost boot like in its shape.
“Thank you, but I’m good.”
“Will you not even try it?” He begged.
She shook her head, whispering in horror, “not even if you paid me.”