Peeling icing off the most tasty slice of sponge, I wanted to keep looking at the cake. The detail, the way cakes always look so much more tasty when it isn’t time to cut them yet. Equally, I needed to try it. Was it flavoured? How was the texture? I started with the icing, and fell into thoughts about cake and relationships. Are modern situationships so complex because one party usually wants to have the cake, but wants to eat it too?
There’s uncertainty around the cake, very few modern men are willing to make their decision, and thus, the most magic of women end up getting thrown into the jam and cream trenches. The cake ends up left lingering, but should somebody else dig in, the past parties come looking for the slice that they could have had before. I don’t think women work in slices, I don’t believe I should give out certain parts of myself when it suits somebody else temporarily. I’m an all in gal, the full cake, and that’s how I love too, because pieces aren’t enough.
Fuckboys love the idea of strong women, but the connection isn’t strong enough to run alongside time spent with the lads, and it definitely isn’t strong enough to halt the right swipes. They want the cake, but they also want their excuses about why they can’t commit to the cake. And they can get so caught up in the push and the pull, the running and the chasing, the will I or won’t I, the ego and the intimacy, that by the time they come back to the counter, the cake is gone anyway, icing and all.
