About a year ago, I dreamed about a cake.
It was a simple, man-shaped cake. A little short, fat man, like the one from the Operation game board.
It was an “anatomically correct” cake. The man had a little penis. I believe it was made of icing. And it was attached to a ring, which was inserted into the cake at the right spot, and it was removable. Anyone remember that song Detachable Penis, by King Missile?
This was fine. And kind of amusing! For some reason. A bunch of other ladies and I were admiring the funny cake. Then I stepped away for a while.
I came back with a guest. “You should see this cute cake we have!” I told the guest. “It’s anatomically correct!” I went to retrieve the cake. The ladies were gone and my husband had charge of the cake. I asked him to bring it to show to our guest and he did.
The penis was missing. “Go get the penis!” I said. “It goes right here!” I laughed.
“I threw it away,” my husband said.
I got mad. “Why throw it away? It’s already removable. You could have just put it aside, so that it was available to reattach later. It makes no sense to throw it away completely.”
In real life, my husband had just started to say that he was no longer a crossdresser, and that he was a transwoman.