I took a couple of pieces of leftover cake home after an event at work tonight. They were balanced inside little styrofoam plates, tottering on the passenger seat. I had a twenty-five minute drive, and for twenty-two minutes the little stack of cake rested contentedly. But I bet you can guess what happened next.
With three minutes to go, I needed to change lanes so I could turn left on my street. I watched a truck pass me, checked my mirrors, checked my blind spot, began the transition, looked forward again, and saw that the car in front of me was turning right, slowing almost to a stop. I braked, and my pagoda of cake flew forward, landing frosting-side-up on the floor of the car, a trail of crumbs scattered on the mat.
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