I'm pretty sure that when one is baking a cake as a loving
[very belated birthday] surprise for one's husband, one should not get inordinately angry about clogged beaters, globs of butter, spattering milk, and quite unsmooth and unshiny batter. I believe I muttered
FUCK in my mind at least 25 times in the ten minutes it took to whisk up this masterpiece:
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghShUI89eJecNaI_oevu348eMibASze4Y-WvDnT-nrWqjAV9Nm1uqk3mYh46nrm83V1KBgOIgsJ35G09ua81_RsL5IhaClUDls2sPop_M0hp4cmxJiik07eUd-LtUsS7CdVYUt_GaVpllI/s200/cake+batter_small.JPG)
We're going to eat it anyway, by God. And it will be good.