(You walk into your living room to find a couple you don’t know eating a slice of cake. Tell us what happens next.)
I was minding my own business, thinking of the chores I needed to finish that day. I had just come home from a grocery store run, and was dreading the trips back and forth with bags full of food that would need to be put away properly. I’d baked a luscious chocolate cake before my grocery trip. It should be cool enough to frost. After that, laundry and some housecleaning. I sure was looking forward to the cake; maybe that’s all I would have for lunch, with a big glass of ice-cold milk. As Bill Cosby would say, the cake is full of nutrition. It has wheat, eggs, milk, and chocolate–all four of the primary food groups!
I shuffled one of my grocery bags to the rocking chair on my porch. Digging for my keys, I promised myself never to buy another purse with “organizer compartments” in it. I could never remember which compartment held what! Finally, I found my keys and inserted my housekey into the lock, only to find that it was already open.
“That’s odd,” I thought. “I always lock my doors. I must have forgotten, but I’m positive. . . .well, I guess it doesn’t matter.”
I pushed the door open with my hip, leaned over to grab the bag off the rocker, and turned to step into my living room.
I dropped both my bags with a thud and scrambled madly for my pepper spray. There, as comfortably as if they owned the place, sat a couple on my couch. Even more surprising, they each had a plate with a big hunk of my chocolate cake, and they were making really good headway with it.
I was terrified, angry, confused. “What do you think you’re doing? How did you get in here? That’s my CAKE!”
The man looked up at me, grinned, and nudged his wife. She had a hard time getting her focus off the cake, but she managed it long enough to grin back at him. They winked at each other, and of all the weird things, they started to sing:
“We thought you knew we were comin’ so you baked a cake. . . . .”