Too Much Salt

I go to unlock the front door, but it’s already slightly open. It’s one of those things that brings me back to every tv show where someone finds something suspicious looking happen to their house and they decide to go inside anyways. Every time I see this happen, I scream: “DON’T DO IT! Aw, you IDIOT! You did it” and then the character either finds a dead body on the floor or is promptly attacked and murdered by the intruder. They didn’t stand a chance. They never do. I disregard my own advice and walk into the house. I stand on my tiptoes so my sneakers make as little noise as possible across the wood floor. I hear a clinking noise. One that is usually associated with silverware on plates. I edge closer and hear a low murmur of voices. I slip toward the wall and move toward the living room, where the voices seem to be coming from. I hold my breathe and creep my head around the corner. That’s when I spot them.

A man and a woman sit on my old leather couch. A couch weathered by years of college study days and party nights, and most likely dog piss from Riley’s puppy years. I once again have the inkling to get a new couch. The woman looks as if she walked right out of Lands End catalog, while the man looks as if he just stepped off the golf course. All collars and khakis. Pale colors and buttons. I look closer and see that they’re eating a piece of cake off the same plate. I look towards the kitchen and spot the chocolate cake that I had made the morning before. The entire cake is still intact, although it looks as though someone put their fingers in the frosting. I don’t know what’s worse; the fact that there are random people in my house, that they’re wearing pastels, or that they’re eating a cake that they clearly think is better than mine but for some reason think my dishes are worthwhile.

I come out from my hiding place and walk into the living room. I stand there and wait for these miscreants to acknowledge me. They don’t look up but continue to whisper to each other and eat the piece of cake. It’s dwindling fast. I won’t have to wait long. I put my hands on my hips and actually tap my foot. As if their presence is a simple bitter annoyance and not an act of breaking and entering. When they finish, they set the plate down in front of them. The woman licks her fingers, while the man wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. They still don’t acknowledge me. The woman reaches towards the floor and grabs her bag, one that I didn’t notice because it was hidden behind the coffee table. I tense suddenly, thinking that she’s going to pull out some kind of weapon and realize that I haven’t come prepared for this situation at all. I slowly move back towards the kitchen. Using my peripherals, I glance around to see if there is a knife within reach. The cake knife sits right beside the cake plate. I’m only a few feet from it. If I just move quick enough…

I watch as the woman slowly takes her hand out of the bag. It’s not a weapon. I let out a sigh of relief but it quickly turns to one of frustration. She pulls out a Tupperware container and places it on the coffee table. She slowly opens it and takes out what’s inside with her fingers. It’s another piece of cake. I’m suddenly pissed off. I mean, seriously? What kind of psychos break into a person’s home to eat their own cake? I mean, come on! If that’s not an insult, I don’t know what is.

The woman puts the piece of cake on to their shared plate; my plate to be specific. Then they finally look at me. The woman lifts the plate towards me, as if she’s offering it to me.

“You know it’s pretty rude to just stand there and not join us. We have plenty of cake. If you do something other than hover.” She speaks to me as if I were intruding on her in her own home. That little…

No matter how annoyed and irritated I am by this whole ordeal, I have to admit one thing. I’m a sucker for cake. Besides I’m sure it tasted better than my own. There’s a reason that an entire chocolate cake sits on the counter untouched. Too much salt.


Inspired by The Daily Post


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