My good friend Phyllis and I like cake. I'd like to say for the record that we're not frosting scrapers, either. No sir. For women such as us, cake is a rare treat, an atypical extravagance, if you will. In fact, we strongly feel that if you're going to indulge, you might as well go all in and not only eat the frosting, but have a corner piece and live as if you were bone thin.

Now, there's a gal in our community who makes cakes like no other, and suffice it say, if you've never had a Mary Fairley, then you haven't had cake. Her recipe is to die for, her crumbs are superb, and dare I say the most prudent of scrapers would be hard-pressed to leave a pile of Mary's frosting on the side.

In fact, it is widely known in our community that if you want a good turnout for your party, don't advertise your décor, don't bother with favors, don't entice with door prizes. Simply say you're having a Mary Fairley, and people will come in droves.

As much as Phyllis and I like cake, we're not habitual cake eaters. No sir, we pace ourselves. For even the president and founders of the Mary Fairly Cake Fan Club need to realize that one cannot have her corner piece and do calisthenics, too.

That being said, you should know that the phone rang just last Tuesday as I was cleaning the abode and minding my own business. Was it Satan calling to tempt me, you might ask? No, but you're close. It was my good friend Trixie phoning to let me know that she'd thrown a family function and (heaven help her) she had some Mary Fairley cake left over.

A more disciplined woman would have shamed Trixie for the call, perhaps offered up a "tsk, tsk" and then promptly hung up the phone.

But not me. No sir. Instead of showing an ounce of integrity or a dab of decorum, I leaned on my broom for support and asked in my most blissful voice, "Mary Fairley, you say?"

"Yes," Trixie responded, "and if I don't get it out of the house soon, it'll destroy my ability to get into the car without having to adjust the steering wheel."

"Why, I couldn't," I said with faux restraint. Then for good measure, I threw in an "in fact, I simply shouldn't."

"Oh, just come by and pick up a little," Trixie said, and then she almost whispered, "perhaps just for the children."

"Well," I said as I thought of the frosting, "I suppose a little cake wouldn't hurt."

I'd barely hung up the phone before I had my keys in my hand and was heading out the door. For who knew how much cake Trixie really had and how many people she had called.

If Trixie was surprised to see me five minutes later sporting a smile and a large container, she didn't let it show.

"Come on in," she said like the seductress that she can be, "the cake is in here."

I'm sure that on the outside I seemed composed, but on the inside I was like a woman with low blood sugar visiting Willie Wonka.

"I'd give you a corner piece," Trixie said, "but I only have one and I promised it to Phyllis."

"Oh," I said with way too much enthusiasm, "I could take it to her."

"Well, if it's not too much trouble."

"Oh no," I said with wild eyes, "I'll just run it by her house."

I was a good girl when I first got into the car. I was fine as I started the engine and put it into gear. But heaven help me if I wasn't alone with the cake and that thing was like the devil! It kept calling to me, I swear it did. "Lori!" it said from its container in the back seat, "Lori, I'm here and you should know that I'm the corner piece.

"Need I remind you that there's only one of me? And who knows when you'll get another chance at a Mary Fairley corner? Loooooorrrrriiiiii!"

I did my best to resist right up until the moment I walked into my own house. Then I slipped into the laundry room before the kids caught a glimpse of me and I shoved the corner piece into my mouth before I even put my purse down.

"Trixie said you were bringing a Mary Fairly corner by for me," Phyllis said when she called me minutes later. "Tell me that you didn't eat it."

"If that's what you want to hear," I replied.

Quite frankly, I blame Trixie. How can she be president of the fan club if she can't control her members?

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.lori clinch.com.