Crazy Vibes@CrazyVibes_1
I own a small bakery. We aren’t famous, but we pay the bills. Last Tuesday, a woman came in. She was gripping her purse so tight her knuckles were white. She looked at the display case for a long time—too long. She pointed to the smallest plain vanilla cupcake we had. 'Just that one, please,' she whispered. 'Could you… could you put a tiny candle on it? It’s my daughter’s 6th birthday.' I looked at her shoes. They were wet. It was raining outside, and she had walked here. I looked at her eyes. Red-rimmed. I knew that look. It’s the look of a parent who has to choose between rent and a party. 'I’m sorry,' I said, putting on my best acting face. 'I actually have a huge problem. See this 8-inch chocolate cake with the unicorn frosting?' She looked at the expensive cake on the counter. 'My new decorator messed it up,' I lied. 'The icing is… uh… uneven. I can’t sell it. I was about to throw it in the trash. Would you do me a favor and take it off my hands? No charge. It saves me the guilt of wasting food.' She stared at me. She knew. The icing was perfect. She started to cry, right there in front of the croissant tray. 'Are you sure?' she asked. 'Please,' I insisted. 'You’re doing me a favor.' She walked out with a cake that would have cost $65, holding it like it was gold. Yesterday, I found a card slid under my door. It was a drawing from a 6-year-old girl. A unicorn with a big smile. And in wobbly crayon letters: 'Thank you for making my mommy happy.' Best profit I’ve made all year.
