We are building a religion, a limited edition. We are now accepting callers for the pendant keychains.

Sometimes, or maybe all the time, I will pick a topic and stick to it.

I am currently all about The Cake.

Seriously. Lately, I can turn anything back to cake.

“That’s such a pretty sweater! You know, that color would look really nice as an accent on my cake.”

“It’s so nice to meet you. So if you had to choose between lemon and vanilla…”

It’s ridiculous.

As soon as we got engaged my dad said that he’d had the best cake ever - not just the best wedding cake, but the Best. Cake. Ever. at the wedding of the daughter of a friend. And my dad is a man who likes his cake.

He emailed the friend, who walked down the hill to find the bakery closed. She then did some investigation and tracked down the baker. Anyway, after a series of emails, we determined we’d speak at 5 pm on Monday.

So all weekend, the cake was my happy place. There was a lot more going on than just animals this weekend, and high emotion around a couple issues. And so, when the tension would mount, I’d retreat to Cakelandia.

We’d be all clenched and tense, and out of the blue I’d say, “Do you think chocolate or vanilla?”

“What?”

“Or something else entirely?”

“Huh?”

“Oh. The cake.”

My retreat to The Cake wasn’t just for when things were tense. We’d be driving along some lovely country road. And to me, all lovely country roads in the rural US look alike. They’re pretty. But not all that different.

But Nick was excited about being where he grew up, and wanted to take me down his favorite back roads, and so, lulled by the motion of the car and the bucolic scenery, I’d go into cake reveries.

Betty and I speak the same language, which means that if we had talked cake anytime in the past couple weeks, then, after just discussing the features of a Victorian house, if I asked, “But would it be weird to have chocolate?”

She’d say, “Of course not. You should have whatever kind of cake you want.”

We could be talking about the upcoming election, and she could say, “But not too sweet.”

And I’d be all, “Oh, no. I hate really sweet icing.”

So I spoke to the Cake Lady on our drive home Monday. And I was all kinds of excited about cake possibilities. Because she makes really, really pretty cake. Like, ohhhh, wow cakes.

The truth is, there are a lot of details I don’t care about. But I want a ginormous, frou-frou, decadent, delicious, garden of flowers exploded all over, so tall it’s a feat of engineering, cake. Nobody would expect this of me, but it’s true.

Traffic between Philly and DC was heavy on Monday evening, perhaps because we chose rush hour to drive. And the weather sucked ass. And you know how stupid people get in the rain.

Nick would get all annoyed at someone who cut us off, and I’d be all, “You know, lilies would be really pretty up the side.”

Like, cake is the answer to all our problems. That driver might be an asshole, but cake will fix it.