Tomorrow is Mr. Rilch’s birthday. Tradition dictates an ice-cream cake from Coldstone’s.
I was sooooooooo careful getting it back to the house. I had all the windows open and the air on; I kept to a steady 65 on the freeway, then coasted on the surface streets with a feather’s touch on the pedals. Carried it oh so carefully up the stairs…
…and put it in the fridge.
I’m notorious for this: putting stuff in the fridge when it’s meant for the freezer, and the reverse. I opened the fridge a little while ago, and saw the cake sitting miserably in its own runoff. With shaking hands, I rearranged the freezer and stowed the cake inside, seeing, in profile, that the top was concave.
Mr. Rilch doesn’t know about this yet.
Well, it’s not like I ruined it entirely!