The Cake
A tale of perseverance, overcoming obstacles and… just. I ate a whole cake on my bed in one sitting. Here’s a dash of humour for a sad soul.
This is a tale of a girl named Cait. Specifically of her Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. For convenience purposes, I shall refer to this physiological occurrence as PMS. Females suffer many different symptoms during this time. Some become what we have deemed, owing to the cluster of psychological symptoms, “bitchy”. This phenomenon may lead to inexplicable bouts of anger, unnecessary verbal abuse, passive aggression and fascinating behaviour which resembles that of a mind of a child. Cait did not suffer from the phenomenon of “bitchy-ness”. The progesterone in her system lead to her three classic symptoms:
1. Outbreaks of achne
2. Extreme lethargy which could not be countered by any caffeinated beverage. She slept as if comatosed. Everyone knew, there was nothing in their physical capability they could do.
3. Extreme hunger. Specifically for baked goods.
A day came which shall never be forgotten. Its tale shall be passed in written and verbal forms down the generations. Her oestrogen spike had passed, and the progesterone began to build. The typical onset of symptoms came. But none could prepare for the severity of symptom number three. The overwhelming need to consume surgery baked goods. She could not fight it. She became as a ravenous animal. She drove to the Woolworths closest to her with haste. Rushing in, she coveted everything baked and surgery. Swiss rolls, cholocate eclairs, donuts covered with icings of a different kind. It was not enough. It was not enough. She had reached her final form. A mighty feral beast. She could not be stopped.
And then she saw it. It was as it time slowed as she gazed upon it’s majesty. A cake. Chocolate. Two layered, the layers separated by lavish cream. And on top. Decadent icing. Topped by a chocolate piece of art, moulded into the shape of a rose. She knew now what was required, and the feral beast calmed slighty. She picked up its container with care, lest she injured this beautiful creation. The price was R80. A minor sum in this situation. After the purchase, she drove at a speed of 300kms to her home. The squeal of tires against concrete echoed into the twilight. She hastily grabbed some piece of apparatus which she could use for consumption. This would not be a slice, oh no. She sat on her bed. It seemed like the correct place for the ritual.
She removed the plastic lid covering the cake. She gazed upon it. Its majesty. Its sheer decadence. It was at this point that she began to suffer from a rare side effect of PMS. Psychosis of Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. The cake began to speak.
“I have been baked for your enjoyment. Eat me now and everything you have ever wished for will be yours”
She knew the cake spoke truth. Her first bite was careful. The fork slid through the layers, meeting no resistance on its way. There would be no slices of cake placed on plates on this night. This consumption would not be a sightly affair. And so it began, a piece was removed with the fork in a complex manner. The moistness of the layering, soft cream and chocolate frosting were combined into an explosion of taste. Orchestral music began playing from no source. A ravenous beast was awoken. Spurred on by the psychosis, this incident could not be stopped by no man. She hungered for this cake and would not cease. She could not be satiated. With every bite it was as if she was made hungrier. And so she ate. The world around her ceased to exist, as if she sat in a place which was and was not. There was no sense of time in this place.
When she returned to the reality of this world on this night, she looked down on the space where there was a cake not so long ago. The delicately crafted chocolate flower which adorned it was gone. She did not remember eating it although she knew its fate had been so. Crumbs lay lifeless on the linen. She looked within herself. Surely she should feel ill? Overwhelmed by the richness of it? Disgusted by her intake of sugar? No. She felt only satisfied.
She texted her friend:
“I ate a whole cake”
Response:
“Oh my God. Okay that is hilarious but also. Please seek help”
And seek help she did. She explained to a qualified professional how every month she lost half of her life’s blood and needed constant iron infusions to stay alive. Somehow no-one she had told before had thought to perhaps check out the situation even though this had been happening for 10 years. It took one simple examination to determine the problem. Her endometrial lining was the size of Beijing. Roughly. This was bad. It needed to go. It did go with the help of one surgery and a Mirena. The Mirena was chill and they had a good relationship.
She no longer loses one drop of her life’s blood at the expected time. She has never again had the desire to eat a cake. She will no longer fall asleep after drinking 3 cups of coffee and snorting a line of cocaine and crushed Ritalin. Her skin still becomes horrendous and this is upsetting. But.
If a girl ever feels gross that she ate a whole chocolate bar instead of a few pieces. Or perhaps a bigger slice of the cake than she should have. I am Cait. And I ate a cake. No regrets are had
