Your mother baked a creamy cheesecake.
Oh yeah, bedtime storytime.
As she takes it out of the oven, the delicious scent wafts thru the whole house making the winter depression melt away you sit down to a slice of cake, And the crust is just right. Not too crumbly as you cut it, but it sticks to you like your structure, and it's moooiiisstt.
You take out the whip cream and your mother looks on, warning you not to simply direct the spiral of whipped cream directly into thine own gullet.
So, you spoon your first bite of cheesecake and a large - more like XL - dollop of cheesecake into your giant maw, as well as a cherry, no stem attached, onto the big utensil of cream whipped, sliced, spliced, knifed, stabbed and all.
But, right before you gulp it in the first bite...as your teeth mash into, and your tongue swirls the goopey cheesy saliva slop in your mouth around, your whistful expression turns into one of putrid distastes. As you had fully uncovered the taste of the supposed cheesecake, it was all but a ruse the cheese cake filling was none other than a spinach artichoke dip in disguise!! With plenty of shredded mozzarella, grainy parmesan, sprinkled and dashed (just like it's children) garlic.
Gotta have that garlic.
