Every year, thousands of parents dim the lights, grab the camera, and stand in front of their child. “Make a wish!” they exclaim before snapping a photo of their kid’s puffed up cheeks blowing out the glowing birthday candles.
I dread this moment. I never know which singing face to look at, so I stare awkwardly at the cake in front of me, outwardly smiling but inwardly sweating.
What should I wish for?
A new car? More baking supplies? Complete happiness? World peace?
After squinting at the cake for over 60 very long seconds and hearing people politely clearing their throats, I screw up my face and blow, wishing I could come up with a wish, any wish at all.
So why do I put up with this torturous yearly ritual?
Because I get to bake myself a cake. With the flavors and frosting that I want. And for a girl who loves to bake, what better birthday present could I give myself than spending a day in the kitchen making myself (multiple) desserts to share?