Growing up, I'd walk through the front door after school and take a deep inhale, hoping to capture the scent of toasty spices drifting through the air.
The smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger could only mean one thing: my mother was preparing carrot cake.
But, of course, it was way too tasty to consume just one slice. My sister Karen and I would eat the first slices as an afternoon snack, then help ourselves to more after dinner.
And if we grew hungry again before bedtime, it felt wrong not to eat another sliver. How could we waste a freshly prepared carrot cake? (When it comes to words to live by, these are some I strongly endorse.)
To put it simply, the cake disappeared so quickly that earning your fair piece became a competitive sport. If you didn't grab your next slice quickly enough, you'd miss out.
So, after a seemingly unending series of squabbles between Karen and me (sorry, Mom! ), we devised a system. If we wanted a piece of the carrot cake, we had to make a claim.
Indeed, we would use a toothpick to violently cut our initials in the frosting. That slice of cake would be off-limits to everyone else.
Thanks to our new approach, I was able to make my carrot cake last longer than one night. I developed the habit of putting some, neatly signed "JD," in the fridge and sneaking a little for breakfast the next day:
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