Happy secret birthday

It does not take long, once you have moved into a new residence, to discover all its flaws. The way to deal with this, of course, is to make a list, as soon as possible, that details all the things you definitely want in your next house.


Since our entire house could fit into a walk-in closet in a modern master bedroom, there is little storage space. The Hero deals with this by smashing through walls and ceilings to create more space. To some extent this approach has worked. But recent events in our home have highlighted the need for a place to store...a surprise birthday cake.


One of our out-of-town guests was having a birthday, and to help her celebrate we -- by which I mean I -- made her a cake. We wanted to keep it a surprise, so we looked around for a good place to hide the cake until party time. 


The Hero suggested the oven. "Too dangerous," I said, with visions of having to explain to firefighters why we had thought it was a good idea to store a plastic cake carrier in the oven.


We finally hit upon using the china cupboard in the living room, which is actually a bedroom armoire that wouldn't fit up the stairwell that leads to the bedroom. After much shifting of items inside the armoire, the cake was tucked safely away. The perfect hiding place, we thought.


Until we started the meal prep in earnest, and I sent my sister, who was unaware of the stowaway cake in the armoire, to retrieve a salad bowl. From the armoire. 


The Hero began to motion frantically, in gestures that could have meant "Don't open the armoire!" or possibly "I am experiencing a major convulsion of all my limbs!" We both quickly fled to the now-open armoire and blocked it from the view of the birthday honoree, acting as if the salad bowl needed the help of all three of us to find it.


Crisis averted, we continued meal prep and pleasant conversation, until someone requested some salad tongs. "In the armoire!" I yelled, and the birthday girl, endeavoring to be helpful, started to open the doors to find the tongs.


The Hero gestured frantically to me again, and we both yelled, "Never mind! We can use the one in here!" and grabbed the closest large utensil, which happened to be a can opener. It would be difficult serving salad with a can opener, but we would make do.


"This is stressful," I whispered. "Maybe we should just have the cake now and get it over with."


"Just stop asking for things," he whispered back.


So we forged on, and while the birthday honoree rinsed the dishes, I signaled the Hero in the other room to a) get the cake out of the armoire, then b) hastily put it back as the birthday honoree suddenly shifted position, giving her a clear view into the living room, then c) get it out again after she looked away, then d) get ready to light the candles, then e) put candle-lighting on hold while the honoree suddenly discovered more dishes to rinse, and finally f) bring the cake with the lit candles into the kitchen while I persuaded the honoree that the fry pan really needed to just soak some more and we should put it aside.


There was a brief awkward moment when the honoree noticed we were all staring at her. We then endeavored to stare as nonchalantly as possible at the table, where she finally saw the cake that had mysteriously appeared. That was our cue to burst into song, as much from relief that we could stop pretending nothing was going on as from sincere wishes for her special day.


Next time, it may be worth it to risk using the oven instead.