Let them eat cake...

or... a Tale of Three Cakes... or... my grandmother pushing food on me from heaven.

It was hubby's birthday on Sunday. We did what anyone would do, bought a cake. A nice cake. A small cake. One that we could eat ourselves. Then the neighbors brought us a chunk of their son's graduation cake. Then hubby came home from work with even more cake. Before we knew it, we had three cakes on our hands.

I can hear my grandmother's voice in my head now, in her funny little Czech accent, her broken English telling me to eat...

Eat! Eat! You too skinny!

That's clearly not my problem now, what with an arse and hips that collectively could have their own zip code. But yes, grandma, I'll eat the three cakes. Oh, make that two. Mmmm.