She's Hot!

It's true. My friend and I made a wedding cake last week. No big'ee.

It was four layers of white heaven, --a Martha Stewart Weddings knock-off. And yeah, sure, --it looked pretty good. What'cha expect? I mean, come-on!


What went wrong, you ask?
Nothing.
Why do you have to go and assume something went wrong?
It was nothing. Nothing at all. . . Alright, yes. ----
---It was a little . . . .

. . . just a little,

---FIRE!

Yeah, yeah, --you heard me. A fire. Oh and not just any fire. Me. It was me on fire.


And before I go on let me just say, --this is exactly the kind of thing that would happen to me. It's no mystery. If I were to have seen a psychic last week - it'a'been a cinch for her to inform me of impending personal disasters to come. I'm a no-brainer for disasters and foul-ups. It'd be like, go ahead lady, take your pick -- which 'day-gone-wrong-in-the-future' would you like to relate to me? Like it's some mystery! Pleeeease!
Will I be tripping off a curb? Wetting my pants? Shooting coke out my nose?

And if she had told me, "I see in your future, --your body on fire at a wedding reception," I'd be like, "duh! . . and you want a twenty for that??!"


However, --since I was not psychic'ly prepared (and really, when am I ever?), --the whole 'body-on-fire' thing was fairly unexpected.

And it's not like I didn't assume something would happen to me -- it's just I was thinking more on the line of "you've got something in your teeth," or "gee, you have on the same dress as the flower girls."
You know, --the classics.


The whole evening started out harmless enough. My friend and I had successfully baked and decorated, and transported the layers without flaw. Heck, we even assembled them with not so much as a quiver. ( . . . well. maybe a quiver.)
But Trusty Husband was there, --supplying dowels, measurements, screwdrivers, matches, saws, flashlights, and you know, --just overall construction superiority.

Best yet, -the corner we were assigned for set-up at this outdoor reception, was dark and mysterious. Just the environment we needed to make our cake look even better. In fact, it was so dark we decided to add little votive candles around the small table for atmosphere and romance.

I had on a real cute billowy blouse that always served to cover my pregnant looking non-pregnant belly.
Plus it was good for the kind of maneuvering I was needing to do. I mean I could have done acrobats over the cake table and nary a bellyblubber or grannyundie would be shown.


Now here's where the story gets interesting, (or amusing - depending on your take) (p.s. it's times like this I find out who my real friends are).

As I leaned over the table to lift off the top tier cake for the bride and groom to keep, --my billowy blouse lit itself ever so flammable'ly, --and in no time I was upright with both precious cake in my hand, --and inferno on my bod.


The thing is, (and I never really knew it would be like this until the experience happened), ---when I catch on fire - I am more embarrassed than I am worried.
Strange, uh?

People complimented me on my 'thinking so clearly', and 'saving the cake', and how 'cool I was underfire' (so to speak).

But really, I was just too embarrassed to draw any more attention to myself yelling and carrying on. I had a look on my face like, "Yeah, I know I'm on fire . . so what? I mean to be on fire while I hold cake." Like, if I looked nonchalant enough -- maybe the others wouldn't notice the flames shooting from my belly.

And well, the truth is, --people tend to notice when you are on fire. There's just no way around it. It's a crowd getter.


Oh and you're sitting there thinking drop-and-roll, right? Well, you're not so smart 'til you've walked a mile in my shoes, (while on fire).

You can't just 'drop' and 'roll' when you're holding cake! And even if the pool was nearby (and it was), if you think I wanted to make a 'Splash' to go with my Fire -- you're crazy!


Luckily, and so luckily indeed, ---Trusty Husband was nearby and with amazing vigor he slapped at my blaze bare-handed until black smoke alone billowed above.
Now, I'm not quite sure if his amazing zeal rose from want of saving my life? or the blouse ( i.e. $$ )?

But no matter --- the deed he did, and a hero he was.


Whoo! Today I sure as heck count my lucky stars. In one evening I made cake, ate cake, and saved cake, ----all before any dastardly photographer or heyday wedding-go'er could snap a shot of me for the record (or the album).

Listen, --I'm memorable enough. Even without a pic.