I never before understood the appeal of these domed mountains of cake covered in typically pink icing so fluorescent it looked sure to give cancer. I didn't like the connotations of "princess," either--like you must have been Daddy's favorite little spoiled brat to even be worthy of such a cake.
And then...my dear friend Christine had one made for my baby shower, in a slightly less offensive shade of blue:
WHY did I not know that there was thick rich custard and whipped cream inside a perfectly moist almond cake heightened by raspberry filling? Or more importantly, wasn't I safer when I held my prejudice against them?
The phrase "too much of a good thing" rings loudly now in the aftermath of my cake hangover.