Birthday eve

I am sitting at the dining room table, writing and listening to Catherine and her friend next door in the kitchen making my birthday cake. There have been shrieks of delight and despair, much giggling, and just now something that sounded alarmingly like the steam function on an iron. "Are you two ironing in there?" I asked. "We're just using the steam from the iron..." From what I have been able to glean the cake involves fondant and has necessitated repeated trips to check clips from some show called 'Cake Boss'. Now I am hearing things like "basket weave" and "save enough to make a star." Happy 48th to me.