Staring at a clock always bored me, even when it was acting as a timer. Inhaling the warm, baking chocolate and the sweet spike of icing, I held the fragrance in my lungs like the cigarette smoke back in college. Flipping the light switch on my stove, I illuminated the oven’s delectable contents. Bubbling, gooey, oozy thick fudge batter rose gradually beneath the oven’s heated stare in two pans. With my mouth watering, I pressed my palm against the oven door, feeling the sun-like heat radiating only an inch away—the plastic barrier separated me from consuming its delicious contents right there.

‘That’s not the only thing plastic barriers separate”, I almost mumble, a that’s-what-she-said joke flittering through my mind. Chuckling, I turned back to the sink, my eyes widening at the towering piles of bowls and spoons and spatulas stacked like the old 90’s CDs I still haven’t unpacked. With the steady tickity tockity of the clock’s mockery in my ears, I squatted volleyball style, back in front of the oven as I drummed my fingers and sighed in huffs. While now a hot mess (literally), soon to emerge was a rich, moist, dark brown chocolate cake still slightly warm, though not roof-of-your-mouth burning, and an aroma that would linger around making the walls brighter and the porch sunnier. Or maybe it would be the words “Our New Home” across the cake in buttercream, summer yellow lettering make the mattresses soft rendezvous, or the vased flowers smile back in blossom.
Still possibly, it could be the banners and confetti cannon that made my beagle Chloe’s fur shinier or the bookshelves less dusty. Just kidding, I never bought the banners; they were way overpriced! The cannon, on the other hand, was a clearance item for 9.95 for “minor temperamental issues” left over from the last house my husband and I moved to. If you asked me though, surprises are a part of life, and if it happens to come in multi-colored, paper form, it’s even better.