Melting Snow

One Too Many ~ Day Six

One Too Many Bites of Chocolate

The round oak dinning table stood in the middle of the room, with ten chairs sitting around it. On the table, in front of each chair was a china coffee cup, crystal desert plate with a silver fork and linen napkin. In the center of the table, was a putter coffee pot, silver cake plate, and a flask of Irish whisky. On the plate rested a triple layer chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and decorated with ten chocolate roses.

Sylvia stood next to the table studying the presentation. Today was Rodger’s 100th birthday and everything had to be perfect. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the closed oak door separating the dining room from the living room. Next to the door, a crystal bell rested on a pine table. Picking up the bell, Sylvia opened the door and rung the bell ten times.

After a few seconds, eight people entered the room and took their seats at the table. After everyone sit down, Sylvia went to the table, cut the cake and placed a piece onto each plate. Next, she divided the whisky evenly in the cups and then poured coffee, which also contain liquor, into the cups.

“Gran,” said Katia, Sylvia’s 21 year-old great granddaughter, “don’t you have one too many place setting here.”

“No, dear,” Sylvia knew she had to be extremely careful about handling this situation or her family would think that she had lost touch with reality. Picking up her coffee cup, she raised it, “Let’s drink a toast to Grandpa Rodger who is... uh, would be 100 years old today, if he still... had remained in this world.”

Sylvia’s family glance knowingly at each other, then rose from their chairs and raised their cups. “To Grandpa Rodger, may he be as happy in heaven as he was on Earth.” Then they touched their cups, drained them, and set back down.

Lora, Sylvia’s 64 year-old daughter, picked up her fork and took a bite of the cake. “Mom, this cake taste unusual, is it a new recipe?”

“No,” Sylvia poured more coffee into their cups, “it’s Irish Chocolate Cake, your father’s favorite.” She smiled as the others ate, “the recipe is simple. I soak the three layers of cake Irish whisky, after the layers have dried enough to fit together without crumbling, I make the frosting.”

I suppose, thought Sylvia, I shouldn’t tell them I put whisky in the frosting. She went to the door, opened it, and looked into the living room. I wish Rodger would get here, he promised to arrive before they passed out.

As she returned to the table, the others began to pass out. Shaking her head, she began eating her piece of cake. “Rodger,” she addressed the empty chair next to her, “I will never understand why our children can’t hold their chocolate. You give them one too many bites and they pass out every time.”

wc=493