Going to a kid’s birthday party is easy these days. The cake is always made of chocolate, which is good – but it also takes some of the emotion out of the ride.
In my childhood, in the days of the payphone and the returnable container, children’s parties caused some anxiety. I arrived and already inspected the enclosure to locate the cake.
Some sadistic parents disguised the cake as a landscape – soccer field, beach, etc. – with allegories that made it impossible to distinguish the flavor. But not always. Sometimes the appearance of the cake gave away its content.
Brown cake, thumbs up, it was chocolate. Pink cake, strawberry: far from my favorite, but oh well. White cake, red alert.
The white cake could be coconut, at the limit of what is acceptable. Pineapple, the horror, the horror. The worst thing about the white cake was the dried plum, a chemical weapon, insidious, camouflaged in a tricky filling of dulce de leche or girl’s baba.
It never occurred to me to get a pineapple AND plum cake. It never crossed my mind that they could do something so wicked.
Today I see that a group of idle people who call themselves “aunts of the zap” went to offer a cake, with a horrendous appearance, for the birthday boy of the day: the crazy entertainer from the Alvorada playpen.
The cake that the aunts offered Bolsonaro was a plum with pineapple.
Very suitable.
The worst possible cake for the worst president we’ve ever had.
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