Vicki's Anatomy and banana bread/cake

Somedays, I have an internal dialogue session with my mental shrink. His name is Dr. Katz and he's this quiet bald man with horn-rimmed spectacles who sits in a big armchair with a steno pad he doodles on. Sometimes he cross-dresses to make me feel better if I have to talk about womanly things.

Back the truck up. Yes, I have an internal, imaginary psychologist. Why not a real one? Because Dr. Katz is biased and guaranteed to really understand what I'm talking about. Plus, it's cheaper than real therapy. Mind you, I'm not the only one who has internal dialogues, I guarantee you that; I know plenty of writers (fanficers) who write comments and reviews to me in dialogue format, and I've caught plenty of people talking to themselves...but I digress.

Today, my boyfriend made me banana cake/bread. I was trying to puzzle out why: what his ulterior motive was, why he insisted on baking this wonderfully orgasmic cake from scratch. I asked Dr. Katz while I was in the shower, feeling the cake/break roll around my happy belly, and instead of nodding and hmming like he normally does, he turned on my internal TV and suggested I ask the cast of Grey's Anatomy.

See, since I bought John the first and second seasons of this awesome show, I've gotten hooked, watching two or three episodes a night to catch up to the newest season. Smart, funny writing and deep, flawed characters that have great chemistry have made the Seattle Grace Hospital my new haven of happiness/angsty anguish.

So, as they were making the rounds in my cerebellum, I tagged along and pestered them about this cake in Meredith's (the show's flake and main character) flighty fashion. And they answered back:

Christina: He made you cake?
Izzy: That's so sweet. What kind?
Me: Banana.
Izzy: You mean banana bread?
Me: ...No, it was definitely cake-like.
Christina: He. Made you cake.
George: Who's got cake now?
Alex: Can I have some?
Izzy: John made Vicki banana bread.
Me: Banana cake.
Alex: What did he do?
Me: Do?
Alex: Guys don't do nice things like that unless they've done something wrong. You know, shrunk your favourite sweater, lost your car keys, snuck a peek at your diary, slept with your best friend...
Izzy: You speak from experience, obviously.
George: Not all guys who cook for their girlfriends have done something wrong, Alex.
Alex: (snarl) Because playing Iron Chef O'Malley has really worked for you.
Christina: He probably wants something. Like sex.
Me: What?
Christina: He's going to drop a bomb on you. Just watch, he'll offer you a slice of cake...
Izzy: ...Bread...
Christina: ...and pull out the whips and chains and a car battery with alligator clips.
Alex: Naaassssty.
George: Ow.
Me: He just made me cake.
Izzy: Bread.
Me: Dammit Izzy, it's cake! Here, try some.
Izzy: Ooh!
Christina: (grab)
Alex: Fork some over, porky.
George: Hey!
Izzy: (munching) Hmm... definitely moist and fluffy...
Me: He used a hand blender.
Christina: ...but dense and...substantial. Massive even.
Alex: It's good.
George: Like my mom's banana cake.
Izzy: Bread.
Me: You can't make sandwiches out of it! It's not bread!
Bailey: What the hell are you fools doin' out here?
Christina: John made Vicki banana cake. Bread. Whatever.
George: We're trying to figure out why.
Bailey: ...Who the hell is this?
Me: Uh...I'm Vicki?
Bailey: You're not one of my interns.
Me: Um. No ma'am. I'm just an intruder in my own imaginings.
Bailey: ...Get out of my hospital.
Me: Yes, ma'am.
Bailey: And give me that cake! ...Damn bunch of idiots...

So I went away and still have no idea why I have this fabulous hunk of banana bread and an even more fabulous hunk of man to serve it to me slathered with butter. Dr. Katz is also at a silent loss. Any ideas out there, or are you all inching away from me with weird looks?