I made a cake. I made it for my husband. I don't really like chocolate cake. If I'm going to eat cake, it's going to 1) be made by my sister (because she makes the best cakes) and 2) be vanilla or lemon. But I made the cake.
The cake raised (is that the right word...?) just fine and is from a box so I know it's not poison. I let it sit and cool before I frosted it. I wanted to frost it right away. I always do. But I waited for as long as I felt it was appropriate.
Surprise: it wasn't enough time.
I went to frost it and it ended up coming up in chunks onto the knife and the frosting had to act as a kind of... spackling paste to put the broken pieces of cake back together. And then I walked away because I knew I had ruined it and it would never be pretty or perfect or like I had wanted it.
I'm sure it'll taste fine and I thought that I waited long enough. But I didn't. And my husband will eat and it won't point out that it isn't pretty and that it isn't homemade. And he will love me anyway.
And that is the breakdown of our marriage in a nutshell. I try and fail and then kind of fix it and then he pretends like it's how it was supposed to be all along.
And I am incredibly lucky. And have really awful life/coping skills.