My crooked cake.
I love to bake on Christmas. Usually I get to do a lot of desserts for family dinner, and especially a traditional fried kind of cake, passed on from my grandma. Last year I was heavily pregnant, and almost forbidden to move, and still I made the cake… This year I didn’t made it. There were no space for tradition with a sick baby.
This one was bought but it’s a perfect symbol of my desire for achieve and the poor results I usually get when I try too much… and I always try too much. And fail much. So, no tradition for me.
You’re my crooked cake. The brake of tradition. My bought cake to go with coffee. It tasted good but wouldn’t pass traditional inspection.
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