Cake

Mick has finished his tea. He is stuck in his highchair and is veering from side to side shouting “KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY” and doing his best impression of someone having a brain haemmorrage.

“What is it Mick?” says Polly.

I am getting cross. I am trying to read the paper.

“KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY,” He screams.

“Do you want a piece of cake Mick?” says Polly, walking towards him with the blue cake tin that houses the remains of his second birthday cake.

“KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY KAY,” Mick is punching the air, shaking his head, gurning and crying his eyes out. Polly starts to walk away with the cake tin.

“Polly, open the tin and show him the cake, I think he wants a piece,” I say.

Polly opens the tin. Mick continues screaming but opens his eyes and sees the cake halfway through a “KAY”. He stops dead, beams with total satisfaction, points at the cake, looks proudly at Polly, then to me, then to Elly, then back to Polly and says with a happy lilt

“kay.”

Polly takes the cake over to the side to cut a piece from it and Mick instantly roars into another tantrum.

“Right, that’s it, I’m taking him up to bed,” I say.

I tuck Mick under my arm and he cries “KAY” over and over again all the way up the stairs, into his bedroom, whilst I take his clothes off, his nappy off.

At some point everything becomes unbearable and the only way I can think of getting through this is by timing him to see how long it actually takes for him to stop screaming “KAY”.

It takes 1 minute 55 seconds. That’s as long as Tame by the Pixies.

Ironically, if you listen to Tame by the Pixies from 1.43 onwards, that’s the noise Mick was making.

Maybe nowadays Frank Black can have cake whenever he wishes.