Driving about running errands
the other day, I listened with my husband to
a podcast he discovered. We enjoyed the banter between those hosts and
laughed an inordinate amount over the thirty plus minutes of hilarity.
One story stood out. The
mother of a young lady went to pick up the graduation cake arranged with their
local Walmart. For some reason, that order was proclaimed lost.
Employees offered a much
discounted, ready replacement. Confection decorated, they sent the contented
lady on her way.
Fast forward to the party and
cutting of said cake. The dessert turned out to be a sort of floor sample, if
you will, the graduate slicing into a Styrofoam slab!
I would have found the mix-up
hilarious.
Not these prima donnas.
Mother and daughter burst into tears, the party proclaimed a disaster.
Seriously?
Now, let me tell you that
promised story about my wedding day.
The historical local home
turned bed and breakfast sported a lovely, deep and wide stone porch. That was
where I arranged an intimate catered reception for attendees. I instructed my
kind, elderly baker to set up her creation on the designated table outside.
She feared ants would be a
problem and instead delivered our cake to the B&B owners’ kitchen. My well
meaning father offered to carry the cake out following the ceremony. He had to
traverse a long way through the entire large first floor, a daunting task. Our
dear friend Phoenix
thought it would be funny to jump out in front of him as a surprise.
Yes, Dad was surprised.
Phoenix startled him to the point he almost dropped the cake.
It got smashed against his tuxedo sleeve and the nearby wall. My two dear
sisters-in-law acted fast. One thought to empty some of my homemade satin roses
of the birdseed meant for well wishers to shower us newlyweds. Together, the
women camouflaged the worst damage.
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| Following the Ceremony; Still Smiling After Seeing the Cake |
If I’d spoken to the cake maker, I would have pleaded that she
discount the unfounded fear of insect invasion. We could have stationed one of
our nieces or nephews to keep watch, for that matter. Oh, well.
My new mother-in-law advised
her youngest son not to inform his new wife of the minor disaster before our
portraits were taken. And nobody fingered the culprit until decades later. They
should have known I would not be angry. Life is too short.
And it’s a funny memory now
if a bit disappointing on the day.
I’m happy to report our
photographer thought to capture a photo inside that sunny back room. The image
turned out better than hoped, cluttered countertops somehow kept in shadow.
Good thing, too, because my husband never got a look at the cake until after
the ceremony.
That photographer, by the way,
was the dear man who I announced as having been recently hospitalized. I’m
delighted to report he is now rehabilitating at home after diagnosis of a minor
stroke.
Would you cry over a
Styrofoam cake? And how did that woman not realize it didn’t weigh enough to be
edible?
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