Blue-Footed Musings

On the day of the wedding, Faithful Reader and I cut the cake according to tradition and fed each other small pieces, while I (and perhaps he, too) prayed for the embarrassment to be over quickly.

If I had known it would be my only taste of the wedding cake that evening, I might have savored more that tiny morsel. We were so busy making the rounds and talking to our guests that we never got a chance to eat the slices of cake that had been served at our table. The cake top, which ought to have been saved and frozen until our one-year anniversary, accidentally ended up sitting in a garage for a week. We returned from our honeymoon to find that our beautiful cake had become a greasy mess. We had no choice but to throw it away.

Part of the supplementary sheet cake did survive, though, stored in my sister-in-law’s freezer for all these months. Last night we finally brought it home. Faithful Reader chiseled out a couple of slices and nuked them just long enough to soften them up. The trace of freezer flavor could not ruin the wonderful sweetness of the frosting and the filling, which were perfectly made, and the reason we decided to go with that particular baker. I’m relieved to know that we made such a good choice.

Eating the cake reminded me of our wedding day, which was a great time to revisit in my memory after having spent most of the day in childbirth class. Childbirth is one of the scariest things I’ve ever had to face, but cake helps. It’s hard to be scared while eating cake. I think that as long as my Faithful Reader is by my side and he promises that we will have more cake, I’ll be able to get through the birth of our child.