They're in the kitchen, listening to one of Santana's new playlists, trying to get over the fact they are the parents of a pre-pubescent girl. Kurt has two dozen, from-scratch vanilla cupcakes lined up neatly on their kitchen island in four rows of six. There's enough for Annabelle's classmates, the lead teacher and the two aides, and the small admin staff who Kurt likes to bribe with baked goods so that they're more likely to turn a blind eye whenever he sneaks their daughter out of her prestigious private school for a matinee and a manicure.

Blaine is nursing his coffee, not really awake, enjoying the view of his husband happily sorting ingredients for Annabelle's favorite lemon buttercream frosting. Kurt is still on Paris time, having just arrived from a press junket the day before. Blaine knows he'll crash later, but for now Kurt is wide awake, pumped up and ready to celebrate Annabelle's 11th birthday -- whether she likes it or not.

Blaine, on the other hand, had a solid week of going to bed at a decent hour, until last night. Not that he's complaining -- he'll never say no to a sex marathon with Kurt, no matter how wrecked he ends up feeling the next day.

That they still go at it like teenagers whenever they are reunited is a source of pride for Blaine. The tabloids and their endless speculating about the demise of their 9-year marriage, their 20 years of fierce and faithful love, can suck it. He has to stop himself from saying exactly that whenever a reporter asks him to comment about the latest lie or rumor, remind himself that though he's working in a cutthroat industry designed to build you up and take you down, at the end of the day he's still a Dalton man. Warblers don't say, 'suck it,' Blaine, Kurt reminds him often, secretly enjoying his husband's crass comments. Kurt likes him a little hot under the collar.

"Is this some sort of, I don't know, latent internalized homophobia?" Kurt asks.

"She's not gay, Kurt. She can't have internalized homophobia."

"She might be gay, we don't know," Kurt says, reading his mother's handwritten recipe card as if it holds the answer to the meaning of life.

"We know," Blaine says.

Kurt sighs and says, "Yes. We do. I just don't want to box her in. She's still so young..."

"You're not totally off base, though. Having gay parents... that means she has to come out pretty regularly, too, doesn't she?"

"I suppose. Do you think that's what this is? She's ashamed of us..."

"Never."

"Embarrassed, then. Something like that?"

"I have no idea. Our daughter mystifies me," Blaine says, pouring himself another cup of coffee. He never understood girls the way Kurt did, but even Kurt feels helpless at times, trying to help their beautiful, bright daughter figure out how to be a girl in this messed up world.

He's awake now, his worry about Annabelle kicking the last vestiges of sleep out of him. Even with all of the progress, and the generational shift toward more progressive values; even with their tight-knit, liberal circle of friends and her "very California" school, Annabelle could still bump up against haters. Even well-meaning, ignorant friends could make a little girl feel like shit about herself because she she has two dads, two very gay, very publicly gay, very famous gay dads.

"I love that you do this for her, make cupcakes from scratch for her class," Blaine says, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist from behind and nuzzling into his neck. "It's like a page right out of People magazine. 'Golden Globe award-winning actor, Kurt Hummel takes time out of his busy, fabulous life to make cupcakes for his darling daughter.' Can't you see the picture? You holding up a tray of baked goods... so wholesome. They would never guess you have the dirtiest mouth on the planet."

"Ah, no. That would be you. And I would not give my mother's recipe to People magazine. Martha, maybe. People, never," Kurt says. "You can help, you know. You're on your second cup."

"Mmhmm."

Kurt leans back into Blaine, rests his body against Blaine's chest, knowing he'll hold him up. He'll always hold him up, always carry the weight, take his splashes, stand between him and the shadows, charlatans and bullies, just as Kurt will care for him, lift him up, fight like hell for him, always, always, always.

Blaine pulls away, examines the recipe card and just as he's about to dig for the mixer, a new song begins that instantly changes the mood in the kitchen. They look at each other and smile, both recognizing "The Stripper" within a few notes, and shake their heads at Santana's bizarre sense of humor.

Blaine is opening cupboard doors, looking for the mixer, when he realizes he's closing them in time with the music. Kurt looks over at him and laughs, tilts his hips to the side and shakes his ass. Blaine dances the mixer over to Kurt, and then remembers the butter, softening on the counter across the room. He tosses the butter to Kurt in time with the beat, one stick at a time, and Kurt effortlessly opens each packet and lets the butter slide into the bowl.

Kurt is creaming the butter in bursts, pulsing and stopping in time with the song. Blaine is dancing now, his version of the Mashed Potato, while Kurt pulls out his old standby, the shimmy. Blaine grabs a large knife from the block and move to the lemons lined up on the cutting board. He slams the knife down, the music his guide, splitting each lemon in half in one stroke. Kurt is full on hysterical now, trying to mix, and dance, and watch Blaine's silly, silly ways all at the same time.

Kurt joins him at the cutting board, both of them squeezing lemons into a glass bowl with their bare hands. He dumps the lemon juice into the bowl, followed by the vanilla, and then turns to look at Blaine who is standing on the table in the breakfast nook, rolling his old Dalton T-shirt up inch by inch, trying his best to look sexy.

Blaine leaps from the table and lands on his feet, grabs one of Kurt's extra-long dish towels and spins it around his head suggestively... sort of. Kurt is beside himself now, and abandons the frosting to join Blaine near the refrigerator, spinning the belt of his robe in circles like he's Gypsy Rose Lee. The music builds and they're dancing all around the kitchen now, Blaine with powdered sugar in his hair and Kurt with frosting on his forehead.

The song ends and they collapse onto the floor, doubled over with laughter. Blaine loves this, the way they easily slip back into the space of friends, and playmates, and young lovers. Yet what he loves even more than this is that it's not unusual, this delicious mayhem, this beautiful, cornball, wildness. This is them, just them. Every minute, all the time, now and forever.

"See! This is what I'm TALKING about. You CANNOT, under any circumstances, come to my classroom today!"

Kurt and Blaine scramble to stand up, tripping over each other a bit, leaning on each other for balance. Who knew powdered sugar was so slippery?
"Anna..."

"Please, please, PLEASE just drop the cupcakes at the front desk and GO. Can you do that? Is that asking too much?"

"But why... are you embarrassed because you have two dads?" Kurt asks, looking serious for a moment.

Annabelle rolls her eyes and tilts her head back toward the ceiling, trying to compose herself. It's a move she learned from Kurt, and she is the absolute master of it.

"You're kidding me, right? Gawd, why are you so... so... ugh!!!"

"Listen, young lady, it may be your birthday, but you're walking a thin line here. Don't talk to your father that way," Blaine scolds.

Annabelle straightens up, looks halfway apologetic and says, "You always do this."

"What?" Blaine asks.

"Sing! You always sing, and dance, and jump on things, and act like crazy people, and I just want to pass out my cupcakes without a scene, okay?"

Blaine chuckles, relieved. Of course she's embarrassed. She's a kid. Who finds her parents embarrassing. Just because they're her parents. Not because they're gay, or different. But because they are over the top, loud, prone to public revelry, and most of the time, total attention hogs. Because they are her annoying dads.

"Okay, okay. I get it. We'll drop them off, and go," Blaine says.

"Thank you!" Annabelle says, twirling dramatically and stomping off.

"Annabelle!" Kurt shouts after her.

When she peeks her head around the corner Kurt smiles at her and says, "Happy Birthday, baby."

Annabelle smiles, and Blaine can tell she's fighting the urge to run into Kurt's arms. She wants to be older than she is, a grown-up, independent from her fathers. But the little girl in her wins out and she crosses to them, muttering "Thank you. I love you. I'm sorry." They wrap their daughter up in a family hug, and when she scoots away to finish getting ready for the day, Blaine grabs hold of Kurt and squeezes him tightly.

"Blaine..."

"I know."

"She's got one foot out the door..."

"I know, baby."

Kurt steels himself, kisses Blaine on the lips and goes back to his frosting.

They have 17 cupcakes frosted when Kurt says, "She's so gorgeous, right?"

Blaine keeps at it and simply says, "The most gorgeous girl of all."