It’s just a birthday cake

This, written September 12, 2013, on the blog I had prior to this one, is another example:

We’re celebrating M’s birthday today, because I’m at Tough Mudder for her actual birthday.

When I went to pick up her cake, this conversation actually happened:

Me: Hi, I’m here to pick up a cake. The name’s Meizac.

Her: Do you know what it says on the cake?

Me: I do! It says, “Happy Birthday, M.”

Her: I think I saw that one.

{pulls cake from fridge and shows it to me}

Me: Yep, everything’s spelled correctly. Cool.

Her: Is she adopted?

Me: No.

Her: Oh, she’s not?

Me: No, she’s not.

Her: Oh. You must run one of those programs.

Me {thinking, “FFS.”}: I’m sorry. What?

Her: You know, one of those programs.

Me: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Her: You know, one of those programs where they celebrate all the kids’ birthdays.

Me: No, she’s my daughter.

Her: Oh. You must have one of those…one of those…I don’t know what the correct term is.

Me: Um, that her father is Chinese?

Her: Yeah, that. I didn’t know if I should say Oriental or Asian.

Me: Well, you should never say Oriental.

Her: Okay. Well, it’s just that so many of them are adopted, so it makes sense.

Me: It also makes sense that I gave birth to her.

Her: Okay, well, have a nice day.

FFS.

I should not have had to have that conversation.

It’s just a birthday cake.

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