Dozens of curious guests turned their heads to watch the strange procession.

Brittany trailed behind me like an enraged kite flailing in a storm.

“Stop this nonsense right now!

Stop pushing that cart!” she shrieked.

I parked the heavy cart right beside my assigned dinner table and casually took a seat in my chair.

“What the hell do you think you are doing with my cake?” Brittany hissed through clenched teeth, her face turning bright red.

“Well,” I said, leaning back comfortably.