So you’re starving. Like, really starving. But you’ve kind of made your peace with it. You’ve even stopped thinking about it much.
And then someone calls you to say hey, there’s cake, and we’re giving it to you.
So you get excited, and get all ready to have some cake. You try to tone down your excitement and be pragmatic and level headed, but they call you so often in the countdown to cake day, checking if you’re coming, if you know how to get there, if you know what to bring, that you figure it’s definitely happening. So you let your guard down, dress extra-fine and everything and head there.
By the time you get there, they say ‘Oh, I’m sorry, did I say cake? I actually meant day-old bread’. Or even worse, ‘Damn, just a minute late, all we have left is stale day-old bread now’.
Thing is, you’re better off with the bread than starving. So you aren’t really allowed to be mad. But you can’t stop feeling cheated because you were promised cake. You also hate yourself for being a minute late and missing the last of the cake, and endlessly beat yourself up about what you could have done differently to have arrived a little earlier. Maybe you should have run harder to catch that train, maybe you shouldn’t have redone your hair before leaving home. But somewhere you feel it’s a gigantic prank to constantly keep you disappointed even when you have all the nice things.