Suddenly all the clues rush to the front of your brain. That chef’s hat your mom always wears. Always calling you sweetie and sugar. Your dad’s mysterious disappearance during the unforcasted rainy day. Your therapist always talking about layers. The birthmark on your back that seems to read “happy birthday”. It’s not that you didn’t know. It’s that you didn’t want to know.
Now that you finally realize, you immediately wonder: if I’m a cake, how can I think? Do I have a brain made out of cake? Or were brains really just a distraction this whole time and cognition comes from something else? As you contemplate this metaphysical conundrum, you think back to all the other cakes you’ve encountered in your life, you feel dizzy for a second and it hits you in a wave of nausea, cake batter coming up your throat, Were all those cakes I ate, over all those years, conscious?
Nooooooooo! I’m delicious!
Really embarrassing when it happens
The cake is a lie
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