Something about Cake

“Where’s old Jazz?”

“Home. She didn’t want to come. I don’t know what’s up with that woman. She never wants to do anything.”

“With you.”


“She probably wants to do stuff, just not with you.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Just sayin’.”

“I hate that ‘Just sayin’ bullshit. Does that mean that somehow you said it but you don’t mean it or it doesn’t mean anything? What IS that?”

“Take it easy, Roger. I really was just saying something’s wrong when your old lady doesn’t want to hang with you. I’m sorry, dude, if I spoke outta turn or something.”

“No, it’s all right Trev. You just touched a nerve.”

“Are you guys, uh, you know, uh…”

“What, dude? For the love of God! Just say it?”

“How’s the sex?”

“WHAT sex?”


“‘Ah’ fucking what?”

“I don’t know, man, but you know what they say.”

“I don’t know what they say, and I don’t know who ‘they’ are. What are you getting at?”

“When the sex goes, the whole thing goes. ‘Sex is the frosting on the cake,’ as my mom used to say.”

“What does that mean?

“It holds the layers together, if you get my drift.”

“Jesus. Who’s the bigger idiot, you or your mom?”

“Just sayin’.”

“So you think Jasmine met someone?”

“I have no idea. But she never… Oh, there’s my baby now.” Trev stood up as his girlfriend reached their table.

“Where’s Jasmine?”

“Didn’t feel like coming.”

“Well, that’s a drag. Why not? Is she sick?”

“Sick of me, I guess.”

“Dude,” said Trev putting arm around his pal. “You don’t know that. You have to talk to her. But you know what they say, and it’s true about love, too, you win some and you lose some.”

Part 1: Allergic to Life

7 thoughts on “Something about Cake

    • Seriously. 🙂 My mom used to say that and it is a pretty nice metaphor, but since she always made flat cakes in a rectangular cake pan, it didn’t make any sense to me for a long time… I’m pretty literal.

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