Wedding Cake

We all have our addictions. One of mine involves a specific food given at a specific function—wedding cake. You could say I’m a nut about weddings, but that would be a lie. You could say that cake is my guilty pleasure and you’d also be greeting Satan at the gates of hell. A safer truth might be that I’m a little obsessed with frosting and wedding cakes usually have the richest icing at least ¼ inch thick. That’s more than enough to make me ill.

It hasn’t. I’ve never felt like I couldn’t eat another bite of wedding cake. In a room full of beautiful people dressed in a glamorous version of their Sunday best hidden behind flowers, statues and gazeboes it seems idyllic. “Once on the lips, forever on the hips.” Not in this fairytale world. Each bite of cake is romantically filled with ignorance…er hope. There isn’t even the bitter aftertaste of aging that comes with birthday cake.

With this in mind I managed to snag three pieces of wedding cake in the last week. To taste two of them I ventured with my roommate Stacey in the frozen darkness further than my 15 mile radius. Her co-worker/friend’s reception in Layton offered both a chocolate and vanilla treat, fondant included. Again most people shrink away from that but it’s the part I love. I am disgusting.

Then a stroke of luck when Eric called to inform me that Benji’s brother was getting married and Ben could smuggle me a piece of cake. Here’s where things get tricky. No, not Ben sneaking a piece of cake, although it took some serious sweet talk to convince him it was a worthy cause. It’s tricky that Eric knows of my love for wedding cake. In moments of desperation when no one would marry I devised a fail proof plan to enjoy all the wedding cake I wanted.

It involves a diamond and a fake fiancé, Eric to be exact. Bless him for being accommodating, but I’ve never felt justified in dragging him around the Valley entrapped in a lie to sample cakes. It could happen though and when the mood strikes I think he’s on board.

Or he’s desperately searching for weddings to attend to placate me with cake so he doesn’t have to follow through with Operation Happily Ever After.