The Weekday One Hundred

A blunder so embarrassing, my associate behind the register gasped.

I looked down. My knuckles had left deep divots in the buttercream. The bottom tier of the custom birthday cake was salvageable, but this was hardly ideal.  

I looked up at the customer, this stunning brunette who made a messy ponytail and zero makeup look effortless.

I held my breath and waited for a well-deserved tongue lashing that never came.

Instead, she pulled a scrap of paper from her purse, scribbled on it, and grinned.

“Good,” she said, pressing it into my hand. “I’ll look forward to that home delivery.”