By Bethany Jean Clement
From The Seattle Times
Seattle—I was making my own birthday cake. Why was this happening?! It was so very clearly wrong. One should never make one’s own birthday cake; it should arrive by the magic that is love, floating through the air with candles glowing, accompanied by a song sung in one’s honor. This was axiomatic. Also, it was hot—my birthday is in August—and the apartment was getting even hotter, despite all the windows thrown wide open, as the ancient Magic Chef electric stove cranked up.