This is not cake.

To be (eating cake) or not to be (eating cake)? That is the question. While other humans are focused on actual problems, I’ve been stressing over whether to celebrate my birthday, as is customary, with a hunk of cake. I do so love cake. But I don’t eat cake (or donuts or pies or scones or bagels or ice cream or pastries or brownies or potato chips or Nutella) and haven’t, for a very long time. Nevertheless, my body has turned against me this year – packing on ten pounds in ten months and five pounds this month alone despite feeding it only healthful amounts of healthful foods. Now I’m afraid to have a damned piece of birthday cake.

“Throw caution to the winds!” say the wise (and, often, short-lived). But if my body packs on pounds eating protein shakes and broiled chicken, what’s it going to do when I sugar-shock it with a celebratory confection?

Meanwhile, people with real problems are not thinking about cake at all.