By “them” I mean Herself, and by “cake” I mean “half a cinnamon roll,” and why on earth should Herself be eating cake for breakfast?

Because it’s her birthday, that’s why.

There was but a single candle on the “cake,” because record-low snowpack, record-high temperatures, drought continues, red-flag warnings, etc., et al., and so on and so forth. I lit it up and we hopped around the kitchen like crazed bunnies to The Beatles’ “Birthday,” blaring from a JBL Clip 2 fed a YouTube video by my iPhone 13 Mini. Can’t say we Revered Elders are helpless when it comes to managing all these doggone, consarned, newfangled whizbangs, whatchamacallits, and comosellamas, even the ones whose “new” is mostly wore off leaving only the “fangled” bits.

Once breakfast is in the rear view there will be a short trail run followed by some medium-light shopping, a lunch without so much cake in it, and a delicious dinner that may or not conclude with cake, depending upon whether we can get to The Range before they run out and/or close, which happens early in these dire days, when no one can afford gasoline, much less three servings of cake per diem.

You wouldn’t believe the tariff on cake. And you can trust me, because I’m in the media.