... your husband will become sick the same night and not be able to eat it. (Especially because the last time you enjoyed banana cake together was at your wedding and you didn't even get to take home the top tier and eat it a year later because the drummer was shoving it in his goofy grin on his way out of the reception.)
When you've finally recovered from a three month sprain and can run, you will slice the other foot with a steak knife and be reduced to limping again.
These are important life lessons--the talk of bedside tucktime with parents, and visits to the wise old woman on the hill.
"What could they possibly teach me?", you ask.
I will tell you what they can teach you, because they have taught me this:
EAT YOUR CAKE.
Limp to the store, buy fresh saltines to replace the stale, boil a chicken for homemade soup (you hear the fat cures respiratory ailments), bandage your wound, and head to the guestroom for another solitary night of fever-less sleep until your husband recovers.
But before bed, when the trees outside are whispering and the baby next door is crying and the man outside is plucking dissonant guitar strings, eat your cake. Savor it. And imagine that moment four years ago when you smeared it all over your new husband's face (or, at least tried).
Then all the illnesses and fluke injuries from the past few months will melt away like the gooey maple frosting dripping from your nose. And you will be thankful.
Dear Huzzy, here's to sickness and health. I'll be happy to take whatever comes next as long as I have you!