| Confession of a Cake
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Chapter
1
Ms Kate Pickles
Monday, 31 December 200196B Trumble Road Camden London NW1 3BX England Oh my dear, dear Egg, I've done it. I've finally done it. Bagged myself a date with the hottest guy on the planet. He's called Will the Weasel (I'll explain the nickname later) and he's picking me up in forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds. I can just picture you reading this. You're lounging on that gorgeous huge pink linen sofa you have in the front room, the bay windows thrown open onto Sydney Harbour, a breast lodged in Baby Blair's mouth. Three year old Basil is busy doing a sketch with a black felt tip on the pale blue carpet, but you don't notice because you're too engrossed in this letter from your little sis. Sun streams onto your silky blonde tresses, which you're shaking back now, a look of disbelief crossing your face. Because I know I've boasted about having just met the man of my dreams before. And then it all turned to crap. But this is so, so different. I've known him for a few months now, and for some reason he seems to like what he sees. So what if my hair is the colour of sludge and whatever product I squirt on my curls, they persist in looking like a giant mop? So what if I can grasp the flesh around my middle and still have enough flab left over to pad out a decent sized armchair? To the Weasel my snub nose, tiny raisin eyes and balloon shaped face are charm personified. He wants me Egg! This is going to be the year when everything starts happening for your baby sis, Kate Pickles (aka Gherkin). You'd better believe it baby! Oh crap, I just dropped the piece of Black Forest Gateau I was stuffing my face with on this bit of writing paper. Okay, I've wiped the cream off and I think my writing's still legible. In any case I don't have a clue where I might have any writing paper hidden in this tip of a room and I don't want to start rooting around in Eva's pigsty next door either. I haven't got all night. In fact I've only got thirty-five minutes and twelve seconds. Just time to jot down my resolutions. And this time I promise I'm going to keep all of them. 1. Sleep with the Weasel. Look, who am I kidding? I can pretend that I'm going to go out tonight and just sip a sparkling glass of champers and flirt like the blazes with the Weasel, and when he tries to jump my bones at the end of the night I'll give him one teensy weensy kiss (definitely no tongue) before slamming the door in his face. But dear God, and I apologize for being frank here, my girly bits are already melting and flowing and there's not a chance on earth that we won't consummate this thing tonight. |
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