Should I eat the cake?

Do any of you watch The Office? Well, I’m pretty sure that I work there… if you don’t know, The Office is on NBC every Thursday at 9:00. It is ABSOLUTELY hilarious, especially if you have worked in an office!

One of the many reasons I believe that I, in fact, work in The Office has to do with the EXCESSIVE amount of parties that are thrown here on a weekly basis. LITERALLY there is one AT LEAST once a week. It is absurd. And downright obnoxious what is doing to my co-workers’ hips.

You might wonder why my hips have gone unaffected. I refuse to partake in the cake eating ceremonies. For those of you in attendance to the Baker wedding, you will remember the cake…
or lack thereof… there wasn’t one. I hate cake… So does the husband. AND (on an unrelated note, imagine that) it is ONE OF THE MOST traditional things you can do at a wedding reception, which was ABSOLUTELY UNCALLED FOR on August 2…. Anyway, I don’t eat the cake.

It all started one Tuesday morning in March. It was one of the lady’s birthdays. (Apparently.)

Our boss FRANTICALLY walked down the aisle of our cubes, TELLING everyone to get up and go to the table. I thought we were having a meeting. Turns out, we were just singing (terribly) happy birthday to this chick.

Now don’t get me wrong. It’s cool to celebrate birthdays. But where does it end? Death? Why must I sing happy flippin birthday every time one of my 4200 co workers celebrates theirs? And why must I eat cake afterward?

I think my hatred for these types of ludicrous celebratory gatherings stems from the fact that I am a Summer Birthday Baby. I would get sooooo pissed off when my whole third grade class had to stand around and sing happy birthday to Andy, who just turned 9. I wanted to say, "I don’t give a crap, Andy! No one cares that it is your stupid birthday!" But instead, I would congratulate him on being born and eat one of the nasty cupcakes that his Mom made the night before. They even had his favorite color (blue) as the icing. Cute, right?

Not for the Summertime babies. No one celebrated our birthdays. There was that one time in fourth grade. The teacher designated a day for all the SummerTime Birthday Babies to have a party. I was stoked. I was ready to rage. I came to school with my bangs teased and my hair combed. (That was an accomplishment)… Turns out the party was L.A.M.E. Why did Andy get his own stupid birthday song sung to him by 27 of his classmates and I had a joint party with the 12 other SummerTime Babies?

The injustice of the situation haunts me to this day.

The other day at work one of the lady’s got a promotion. She made cake FOR HERSELF and brought it in for everyone to eat. She went around and made sure everyone got a piece. She got to me.

"There’s cake over there." She said.
"Oh, great, thanks!"
"Oh, are you just going to eat your yogurt?"
"Yeah, I wasn’t planning on eating cake for breakfast."
[It was 8:30 in the morning]
"Well, you better hurry! If you don’t, it’s all going to be gone…" [Checking the cake] "There’s only three pieces left!" She said.
[What I thought…] "Really? What the? Are you serio…Who the heck eats cake for breakfast? Four year olds when their mom isn’t looking? Old people?"
[What I said] "Whatever! Happy Birthday!"

I think people are starting to judge me for not eating the cake. I AM THE OUTSIDER because I don’t have cake on my breakfast menu. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out. It’s either eat and let it go straight to my hips…. Or get the eternal stink eye…..