Next time I move homes I want a cake in the shape of my new house. There must be something symbolic about eating a replica of your home. What could it mean?
Like subtle little quiet ghosts creeping up on your earholes.
You don't need giant wings to fly in your own way.
I won't scare you, I promise!
I'd like to think that this cake really does have lots and lots of separate little layers, each one wrapped in its own pretty tissue paper just a little different than the one below it.
I like to think that whatever is in the bowl was dropped in there all in one big lump. Sploosh!