I arrive at the Cheesecake Factory in Arlington one minute before it opens and am met with a line of people.

I’m here to try the chain’s new Celebration Cheesecake, a rainbow-bright confection that threw the Twittersphere into a tizzy when the flavor was announced weeks ago. It launched Sunday in honor of National Cheesecake Day and will be available year-round, with 25 cents of each $8.75 sale in August going to feed families in need. I wonder whether this particular cake is the reason the silver-haired woman in front of me with a walker is here, or the men in suits sharing light chit chat.

When the clock strikes noon we enter and are led to our seats. The air conditioner is set to a pleasant temperature, and “Summer Breeze” by Seals & Croft is playing. The faux-weathered walls and woven cafe chairs are a nice touch. More guests file in.

Who makes the best Italian sub in Washington? We tasted seven to find out.

Is that CNN on the TV next to the bar?

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I don’t have a chance to read the news ticker, because my server is at the table with a copy of the restaurant’s menu. At more than 250 items, the Cheesecake Factory’s list of offerings seems insurmountable. I’m not hungry, but I feel the need to earn my dessert.

Thai lettuce wraps. Chicken samosas. Kale and quinoa salad, available gluten free. The pages represent a culinary utopia where nationalities of all sorts coexist. Divided only by course, no one dish seems out of place. Being so varied, I like to think that even feuding family members who haven’t spoken for years could find something to agree on here.

I decide on avocado toast — avocado toast! — and the news on TV grabs my attention again. Something about Trump’s tweet about the rising stock exchange. Or maybe a statement on Russia. Honestly, I’m too distracted eavesdropping on the family nearby that’s sharing life updates. The older man dining solo to my right calls his wife, just to say hi.

Trendy dishes come and go. These have been standards in Washington for decades.

The waitress comes back to clear my empty plate, and I request the Funfetti-laced finale I’m here to try. “It’s so good,” she tells me. “You’re going to love it.”

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And for the most part, I do. The cake, which was clearly conceived by a kid at heart, is speckled with purple, pink, yellow, orange and green baked Funfetti dots. Its layers include vanilla cake, original cheesecake, and strawberry, chocolate and vanilla mousse.

The strawberry tier is overpowering for my taste and the chocolate is nearly undetectable. A pile of whipped cream on the side adds a shot of sugar, which isn’t necessary for such a saccharine stack. But the vanilla cake is restrained and moist, thanks to the mousses. Plus, the tangy cream cheese frosting helps cut the sweetness.

Overall the dish is happiness on a plate. The only things missing are some noisemakers and balloons.

I can’t finish it, and the waitress is nice enough to humor my joke about the enormousness of the slice, which she’s no doubt heard before.

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She leaves to get my check, and I’m genuinely sad the meal is coming to an end. But luckily, I have a hefty amount of leftovers, which I can dip into any time I need a pleasant, albeit short, distraction.

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