I reach for the nearest plump cake body galloping on skinny horse legs, with equine head and neck sticking out. Must be dreaming. On the horse’s shortcake flanks, white glaze has hardened into uneven stripes. Strawberry slices adorn its top and middle. Another horse, Black Forest with cherry eyes, tosses its mane of chocolate shavings. A third, pistachio ice cream-green, peers at me from twin semi-sweet chips.

My hand brushes frosting, and I recall Mother’s incantation as I slipped away here: “When you wake, you’ll have cake / And all the pretty little horses.”

No, no need to ever wake.