It is All in the Icing

We are just returning from another birthday party. Again. This one, thrown by an expat mom, was low-key with a nice gathering of select parents and kids (as opposed to the entire class).
The memorable moment was the cake. The bakery forgot to make the poor kid's cake and the parents had to rush over there to collect something. They came back with some superb tier cake, with the theme of jungle animals. Very cute. When the cake was finally cut, the crowd realized that a huge portion, a entire tier of it, was fake. It was styrofoam covered in icing.
It kind of left me thinking: an amazing look, yet so hollow. I hope that this cake is not the metaphor of our brazilian connections.
People are often so unnaturally nice here. They get out of their way to help us. They are always pleasant when you talk to them. They are nice and patients in ways that feel sometimes totally unreal. I mean, in Israel, someone (or many) would loose patience after waiting 30 min in the fast lane at the grocery store because the lady is chatting away. I mean, in Canada, someone would get fired for incompetence.
This cake made me wonder about what is a facade here. We have fences in front of our houses, and secret ones in front of our hearts. Are the fences of the brazilian their niceness? Will I get to know them better? To really meet them? For who they are, without the fluff and the frizz?