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Last week was my birthday. I'm old enough not to care too much about having another one, but my just-turned-four-year-old grandson, Zack, feels he's become an expert on the subject, having celebrated his own, his little sister's and his mom's all in the past month.

While he'll often help me bake cake, and I'd be more than happy to make my own, he feels birthday cakes should come from the store. That's probably because of the fancy frosting, which is his favorite part.

He went with grandma to pick out a cake for me, and although, or perhaps because, he can't read and write, he insisted the inscription should read "Happy Birthday Cake".

So it did, and so it was.