After relentlessly pestering Erin into readiness early, I wandered the house with my coffee cup in hand searching for the car keys.
Turning up the car keys just as the first two cake layers were perfectly baked, I discovered that my wallet was nowhere to be seen. The last place I recalled seeing it was... uh-oh. It was definitely in the console of the mister's car. The mister's car was miles away where he was sipping coffee at his weekly Man Meeting. Remembering an envelope of cash earmarked for something else, a resolution quickly became apparent. Jabbing the button to stop the timer, I popped open the oven door. Slipping on my oven mits, I leaned in to pull the hot pans from the oven. Down I fell as something very bad happened in my left knee--- while maintaining a death grip on the hot pans and escaping any hot metal parts touching bare skin solely because of the double layer of winter workout wear.
A couple of hours later, my left knee was in a brace that looks like a prop from last summer's G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra for the next couple of weeks and pumped full of cortisone. (Well, actually, the doctor prescribed a brace for the other knee, too. Really, it was only a matter of time.) I was back home to stack the three cake layers with raspberry filling. Slapping on a coating of made-from-scratch white chocolate frosting, I decided it was time to take a teensy break. For the rest of the afternoon.