As I come out for [yet] more coffee, Top Management says, "Hey, perfect timing. The cinnamon bread your 15-year-old baked just cooled enough for her to add the icing, and she's cutting you a piece right now."
This. This is why I'm happy to live at the poverty level in order to work at home as a freelance writer, rather than travelling the world as a billionaire concert pianist.
(The bread was so good.)