Lost in Suburbia classic column: Let them smell cake - Seacoastonline.com

Columns share an author’s personal perspective.
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As we were driving home from our vacation at the beach, I kept smelling cake.

“I smell cake,” I said to my husband for a third time.

“I know, honey. You said that already.”

We were on the highway, and as far as I could tell, there were no bakeries or cake factories around. I knew I hadn’t packed any cake in the car. I also didn’t see the Cake Boss, Martha Stewart or any Poppin’ Fresh dudes driving in a car next to us who might be transporting freshly-baked cake to an undisclosed location. There was really no reason I should be smelling cake, and yet, my nose was definitely picking up a distinctly buttercream-esque smell.

“I think I’ve been on my diet too long.” I said. “I’m having cake-scented hallucinations.”

“Hallucinations are when you see things that aren’t there,” said my husband. “You are smelling things that aren’t there.”

“I think you can have smell hallucinations, too,” I retorted. “Sometimes I still smell diapers even though our kids are teens.”

“That’s because the dog pees on the rug,” said my husband.

I ignored him and went back to smelling cake.

I guess in the scheme of things, if you’re going to have aromatic hallucinations, it’s better to have ones that smell like cake than some other things. Still, imagining you smell cake where there is none could be the first sign of a full-blown Cake Psychosis.

“You know,” I said to my husband, “I might start out smelling cake, but then progress to seeing bundt cakes and sponge cakes that aren’t really there. Then, I’ll start using the word fondant in every sentence. Before I know it, I might actually believe I’m a master French pastry chef named Jacques, and the next thing you know, I’m yelling at the kids for using the wrong icing piping tip on the Chocolate Ganache Torte I’m making for the PTA garden party!”

“Take deep breaths honey,” he said soothingly.

“I can’t! Every time I do I smell cake!!”

“It’s going to be okay,” he assured me.

“Do you think the fact that I’m smelling cake could be a sign of something?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

“What?” I wondered with alarm.

“It’s a sign that you want some cake,” he responded. “You’re probably still smelling the cake we had after dinner last night.”

“That was good cake,” I said dreamily. “Hey what did we do with the rest of it?”

He was silent. Then he looked at me awkwardly.

“I, um, packed it up with the rest of the groceries … and put it in the car.”
I scowled at him. “You’re telling me the CAKE is IN the CAR and that’s what I’ve been smelling? I thought I was headed for some kind of cake breakdown!” I bellowed.

“I’m really sorry, honey,” he apologized. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Give me a fork.”
This is a repeated Lost in Suburbia column, which has appeared in GateHouse Media newspapers since 2008. As Tracy Beckerman’s main column is shifting focus - her kids are grown and she has moved back to the city - we are rerunning her earlier work for readers who may have missed these the first time around. You can follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage/ and on Twitter at https://twitter.com/tracybeckerman.

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