“It's Only a Cake”: Clarissa wished to be like Virginia- to be an author. She wanted to be un-ordinary. She wanted to be perfect. But she knew she wasn't. She knew she even couldn't make a perfect cake. “The cake is less than she’d hoped it would be. She tries not to mind. It is only a cake. She and Richie have frosted it and she has, guiltily, invented something else for him to do while she squeezes yellow rose-buds onto the edges from a pastry tube and writes 'Happy Birthday Dan'…. There is nothing really wrong with it but she’d imagined something more. She’d imagined it larger, more remarkable. She’d hoped (she admits to herself) it would look more lush and beautiful, more wonderful. This cake she’d produced feels small, not just in the physical sense but as an entity. It looks amateurish; handmade. She tells herself, It’s fine. It’s a fine cake. Its clumsy aspects (the scattering of crumbs caught in the icing, the squashed appearance of the “n” in “Dan”, which got too close to rose) are par of its charm. She washes the dishes. She thinks about the rest of the day” (99-100).
'I will make a perfect cake'. I will. We will.