Sunday, December 19, 2010

Cake: the prefered food of celebration

I have nothing against cake.

In fact, I've enjoyed cake quite a bit. Birthdays, bat mitzvahs, even the occasional 'yay you broke up with that asshole' cake. But after a knock down, drag out fight with not one, but two people about cake, I'm ready to swear it off. Forever.

mmmm, cake?

Both my mother and my husband-to-be feel that cake is necessary for our wedding celebration. I, on the other hand, feel it's too traditional and I would prefer something more fun. Like chocolate bacon. Seriously, two of the best things together at last?! Who would turn their nose up to that? No one, that's who. Or ice cream. Or chocolate bars. Or anything besides traditional cake.

My mother is usually appalled at me in general. I curse, throw my opinions around and generally shock her but this idea of mine was apparently over the line. We were having cake. Period. It's traditional, people expect it and she likes that cake at a local bakery where her friend works.

Fine. Let them eat cake. I informed her that I would be slipping out of the reception with my best friend for about 20 minutes to walk down the street to get an ice cream cone. Because that's what I want. (Because I'm the bride and it's my day... dammit.) This is when her head exploded. I won't go into details but there was lots of talk about my needing to be a grown up and how to be a hostess. It was like being 13 again. So I left my parents house in a huff, much like a 13 year old.

Now, my fiance is usually embarrassed by me in general. I'm loud, dress inappropriately and generally doing the wrong thing but this fight with my mom was apparently over the line. He sided with my mom! (Rookie mistake, right?) He thinks cake would be great and that if I happened to disappear to get an ice cream cone (on MY OWN wedding day) that it would be inappropriate.

And so, dearest evil minions, I impart on you this knowledge.

aka - inappropriate
The cake is a lie. It is neither celebratory or fun. It is yelling at me and filled not with butter cream, but with shame.

Go, my pretties, and get some ice cream, don't share, and just be happy if you don't balloon up like Ricky Lake. Do it for me!  I'll be 60 stories up, looking down at you in my wedding dress and a plate with cake on it, dreaming of pistachio and waffle cones.

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