It takes a cake

There’s nothing worse than the smell of freshly baked bread when you can’t have any. It’s the kind of smell that can drive you insane as you sniff the air trying to locate its source, until you track it down not to a bakery where you can go in and buy some, but to some building where some inconsiderate bastard has baked himself some bread for his personal use and isn’t sharing with you.

But that’s just me. I hope my downstairs neighbors are not like that or that they slept through it, because yesterday morning I woke up early and baked an upside down pineapple cake to take to work for an early Thanksgiving.

It got me a share of looks during the commute. The walk to the subway was uneventful. I took the R all the way so I could remain seated with the warm cake on my lap. Safer for the cake, but not for me – people near me seemed to be trying to figure out what was in the not-quite-clear plastic carrier.

But most people in the morning subway are still half asleep, tucked in their own worlds and barely acknowledging the presence of others. It was when I got out at Union Square that I noticed there was something about carrying a cake: I was drawing lots of attention and it wasn’t because of my skirt.

These were not the kinds of stares you get when walking past a firehouse or a construction site. Or the kinds you get when you go down the street dressed like a cat. This was a double take. First they would notice the carrier, get a frantic look in their eyes as they tried to figure out what it was and how it fit in their worldview of possible things, then as they got close enough to be able to smell it, they’d look at me with a hopeful smile.

I’d smile back trying not to look too smug. Sorry, this cake’s not for you, random commuter. But you, dear readers, you get a picture of it. Have a lovely Thanksgiving!