The Cupcake of Despair

It should have been a great night. I overcame my fangirl nerves, shook Andy Bloch's hand (he's surprisingly tall) and actually asked Chris Ferguson (surprisingly not all that tall) a poker strategy question. I was hanging out with Mr. WPY and I was happy.

The event itself proved to be something of a dud, but the two of us and a couple of other poker cronies were all keyed up to play. Mr WPY offered to host an impromptu cash game at his place. We all made phone calls and managed to put a group together in about 45 minutes (man, I know a bunch of degenerates).

He has my favorite poster of all time in his bedroom (I hadn't seen it before), the Taittainger champagne lady in yellow behind the tulip glass. I saw that and I thought: "It's so meant to be!"

Wrong.

I was hungry, and he fed me the cupcake of despair.

It was an innocuous looking yellow cupcake with chocolate frosting. "It looks homemade," I observed.

"It is," he affirmed.

And with that, I realized the jig was up.

Needless to say, this is not a man who produces baked goods. So where does this homemade cupcake come from? From the previous reliable purveyor of oven goodies, no doubt.

There was no vibe last night. None. I'm toast.