A mystery cake with many candles turned out to be surprisingly tasty.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” we sang. “Happy biiiirthday, dear . . .”
“Actually, whose birthday is it?”
“Yes, whose?” We all looked at each other. “We don’t know.”
Silence fell. Eventually, someone had an idea.
“Maybe it’s written on the cake.”
Sure enough, there was something written on a piece of chocolate: “Candy Cakes.”
“Is there a Ms. Cakes here?”
There was not.
“Rather an unusual name, if you ask me,” someone said, soberly.
“That’s not a person’s name, it’s the name of the cake store,” said someone else even more soberly.
“So it is. In any case, they’re not here.”
“I’ve got an idea! Let’s count the candles and see which of us is that old. That’ll be the person whose birthday it is.”
A splendid plan. We counted: there were 120.
None of us was that old.
“And here we are, singing Happy Birthday to someone who’s not even here.”
“What a shame. They won’t even get to taste their own birthday cake.”
“What a waste!”
“Oh well. Let’s just blow out the candles, eat the cake, and let’s not be sad. After all, it’s a birthday party!”
And so we did. The cake was delicious. And when someone from Candy Cakes phoned to ask if we wanted the same cake the next day, or whether we’d prefer a surprise cake, we said: “A surprise cake.” And when they asked how many candles, we said: “As many as possible!”
