Oh fruity cake, you are a vision of perfection. Would you kindly find your way to my house and woo your way into my belly? It won't take much, I swear.
I was always that jerk kid who dug out the whole strawberry stripe of the Neapolitan ice cream in the leaky cardboard box. I kind of miss those crappy boxes that were impossible to open without ripping the lid and you could never get them closed again and would inevitably end up with a puddle of freezer-burned nasty ice cream. Those were the days. Kids these days have it so easy.
Hey bird! Why are you sleeping on my cake? I mean, you coordinate with it quite well and all but this isn't a nest, it's a dessert! You can't sleep here, you just can't. You're welcome to come to the party, just stay off the food okay?
I need to sit down. I need to breathe calmly into this bag to keep from fainting because this is possibly the most perfect cake I have ever seen and I've been looking at cakes for a long while, my friends. I marvel at the gradient pinks, the delicate layers, the thin filling that doesn't interrupt the gorgeous color. And the little paper banner on top! Perfection! I can die happy now, thanks!