Marlborough Express - Weekend Express
Having her birthday cake and eating it
Before she starts talking about Cinderella coaches and Pink flying in to play music for pass the parcel, I steer the conversation to what cake she may like?
My birthday cake baking is hit or miss. I am either beaming with pride at my cleverness or sobbing over the rubbish bin.
Miss Five starts ticking options off on her fingers. She’d like a cat cake but then again a rabbit would be nice but how about a Paw Patrol cake or even Scooby Doo.
‘‘Oohhh, I know!’’ She pauses for dramatic effect and I brace myself for the worst. ‘‘I want a unicorn cake.’’ Of course she does.
As she ponders the merits of a life-size unicorn cake I break out in a cold sweat and start frantically searching Pinterest. It does nothing for my morale.
I start pointing out basic lollydecorated cakes slightly desperately but she can smell my fear.
Light brown locks go flying as she shakes her head in disagreement.
‘‘All Iwant is a unicorn cake,’’ she pleads, batting her eyelashes at me. I go to Google, after all come May 19, there’s a certain royal cake maker who will have a lot more time on their hands. Miss Five excited.
There are only 75 sleeps to her birthday. Yes, that’s right, a mere 75 days to go but make no is excited, very mistake, her sixth birthday is a momentous occasion right up there with Prince Harry’s and Meghan Markle’s wedding.
In fact, I’m sure the royal duo were not as demanding. If Miss Five could have booked Windsor Castle for her celebrations then she certainly would have.
Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright as she outlines her plans, waving her arms in the air enthusiastically as she tells tall tales about what other children had at their parties.
Apparently there are a few crucial elements that are de rigueur these days. Top of that list is a unicorn.
I cast my gaze to our fluffy cat, Polly, and briefly wonder if I could get away tying a unicorn horn to her head. She flicks her tail at me and stalks off. That’ll be a no then.
There will be games of course she solemnly declares, with prizes. The last word is said reverently in hushed tones.
I brace myself and ask Her Highness what kind of prizes she thinks her friends might like? ‘‘diamonds and crystals’’ for the girls and ‘‘remote-controlled cars’’ for the boys. Of course, silly me.
I am going to need a budget like the royal couple’s too, it seems. I ask if she’d like a red carpet too, before I remember that sarcasm and five-year olds is not a good mix and her eyes light up. Oops.