Strawberry Cake

I am four. My birthday was yesterday and my parents threw me a huge party where all my friends and I ate the world’s biggest strawberry cake. Strawberry cake is my favorite food. It has been since the day I was born when my aunt baked one to celebrate the occasion. The spongy treat was cold because she left it in the fridge overnight. I guess you could think of the cake as older than me by the time all my family ate it.

But now I am four. Four years and eighteen hours younger than that cake would be if no one had eaten it in the first place. Everyone loved my strawberry cake until Robert got sick. Then Emily threw up. Micheal pooped in the pool, and I had the worst belly ache of my whole life. My dad piled us all in the car and rushed us to the doctor. One by one, we were each diagnosed with food poison. Turns out, there was a recall on the strawberries and E. coli was the culprit.

I am amazed at how quickly my best birthday turned into my worst birthday, all because of the cake. 

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