“The cake is a vector for saturated fat,” I replied. “But you are a vector for my existence. Statistically, you are more valuable.”
I performed a risk assessment. “There are no binding rules for the distribution of a vanilla bundt cake on a non-special occasion,” I reported. “This will lead to anarchy.” young sheldon s01e22 m4a
The turning point occurred at mile 2.4. My mother, distracted by her theological running lecture, tripped over a sprinkler head and fell. She scraped her knee. Blood, dirt, and the realization of mortality. “The cake is a vector for saturated fat,” I replied
The race began in chaos. My father and Agent Jefferies sprinted ahead, a duel of middle-aged pride. My mother jogged beside me, attempting to explain the Trinity using the analogy of water, ice, and steam. “It’s all H2O, Sheldon,” she panted. “There are no binding rules for the distribution
“Just go, Sheldon,” she whispered, wincing. “Win the cake.”
We crossed the finish line last. My father won the race, but immediately ate the cake out of spite so Agent Jefferies couldn’t have it. This was a pyrrhic victory. He then had to lie down for forty-five minutes.
The true crisis, however, began at 7:42 AM in our kitchen.