“Oh, really? Sending some chick a batch of cardamom cupcakes with lavender frosting made by a specific baker that I have to drive all the way out to Laguna Beach to pick up, because of course they don’t deliver, isn’t frivolous? Hell, I can make those myself. I can even put happy birthday on them in little gold letters like you wanted.” Frankly, I’m surprised he hadn’t specified what font should be used. “But they wouldn’t be from her favorite baker,” he tells me, then makes a sound of exasperation. “She’s my makeup artist. The woman I have to spend hours in the chair talking to. She needs to
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