The following does contain some possibly foul language so be warned.
Also this is all 100% true.
While living out west, my ex wife befriended a young lady I worked with at the time. She wasn’t someone I really cared for.
The first time I saw this person in our home the conversation went something like this;
Me, “What is she doing here?”
Ex, “Oh, her? I met her at Wal Mart, and she said she works with you so I invited her over.”
Me, “Ah, Perfectly logical.” A brief pause too glare at the intruder into our home, then pointing at her and speaking to my ex, “You do realize having her here is like feeding a stray dog, right? She is going to keep coming back over here all the time.”
Ex and intruder laugh and tell me to, “Stop being silly.”
I left, going into the garage to destroy something, ANYTHING.
Well the days turned into weeks turned into months, and sure enough more days than not the Intruder turns up with her three juvenile delinquents in tow. I avoid all of them at all possible costs.
I should say that my ex was trying to fellowship this gaggle of turds, show them a functional supportive family unit etc. Yes, I did a lot of eye rolling, muttering, bitten off cuss words etc.
Eventually this vagabond met someone. I am not sure how, as I did not know that trailer parks had their own special personals so that like minded individuals could meet. Evidently there is a publication of this sort, I suspect it must be available in only the finest of truck stop restroom stalls.
My ex was elated to hear the news, and simply over the fucking moon when the wretched cretin sprang the news that these DNA mismatches were to be joined in what surely would be an offense to God.
An infusion of Martha Stewart, and Oprah welled up inside my ex as she volunteered to assist in the wedding, from helping pick out the colors, dresses, flowers and even making the cake.
Yes intrepid adventurers you heard that right, the god damned cake.
Now it is not to say that my ex did not have some experience making cakes. She had made a few of the number cakes for the boys’ birthdays, ya know the ones from the cake molds that look like the number itself. Of course there was that tricky one for the third birthday where she had to take a bunt cake and cut it in half, rotating one half up to make the number 3.
Whew that one was touch and go for about 5 minutes.
Also she had made some double layer cakes with a jelly like substance in between.
So clearly she was fully qualified to make the wedding cake for these two. Clearly.
I pulled my ex aside, “Um. Not to nitpick, but you have never made a wedding cake before.” Placing my hand on my chest, fingers splayed out, “I have never made a wedding cake (side note, I often was drafted in at the last moments of projects she volunteered for being told to fix whatever was wrong). So I have no idea how you are going to do this.”
My ex walked over to the kitchen cabinet, smiley so hard she could barely see, and pulled out a book on wedding cakes.
Raising my hands in the air, “Ah, well silly me, problem solved. Because obviously if it is in a book, with lots of pictures, it must be easy. Come to think of it I want to build my own nuclear power plant, I am going to the library to see if they have a book on that!” Yes I love my sarcasm.
“I don’t care for your tone,” my ex advised me.
If I had a penny for every time she said that I would not be working for a living.
“I…well…but… a wedding cake. I’m going outside,” and out I went.
Again times passes. The ex has been on several trips picking out dresses (finally talked her down from gowns, think the tipping point for that was when I held up a burlap sack in tractor supply asking if that would do.), flowers, invitations, crepe paper streamers ( worse shade of piss yellow I had ever seen).
Now the cake catastrophe now begins.
The baking process went well enough. Then the assembly process, well here is where the fun begins.
Mind you all this occurred the day of the wedding (odd how close that word is to weeding).
Having drawn a line in the sand, or rock riddled hard concrete like dirt that we lived in, I advised I would have nothing to do with this wedding and went outside to tend to the yard. Yup, did the typical male shtick and was a dick about it.
I worked all morning skipping lunch getting sweaty and filthy. Just to try and make doubly sure I wore no shoes. Figured crusty feet would definitely keep me out of the proceedings.
I smiled as I heard much wailing and gnashing of teeth from inside the house as I shoveled fresh compost into the flower beds. Mowing the yard I would stop to listen for the lyrical hurls of curse words being lobbed around the house. Never was there such sweet music, seriously a chorus of angels will not sound better at the second coming.
Hours rolled by, I drank from the hose to make sure I did not somehow become embroiled in Hurricane Wedding Catastrophe.
Finally the door cracked open and the cake was being hustled out. I should say that the pieces of the cake were hustled out as it had been determined that the final assembly would be done at the location of the blessed event. This could have been because the application of the fondant, with numerous icing ‘flowers’ to hide the flaws, proved just a tad trickier than the words ‘Apply fondant to your cake’ .
I smiled as they piled in the car and sped away, receiving a few glares from my ex.
After they were out of view, I lay down in the yard, tucking my hand behind my head. I enjoyed the sun and just relaxed, taking deep cleansing breaths. Thinking to myself, “well, you did it, there will be hell to pay but you did it. No sir no wedding bullshit for you.”
Feeling the urge to use the bathroom I walked into the house. Peace. Nothing but peace. No turmoil. It was a tomb. I love tombs.
Sitting upon my throne, doing my best to portray the God or Porcelain, there was an odd rumbling from my foot. I had never experienced a bathroom visit that was so needed that my foot vibrated.
It was the cursed shock collar of a cell phone! Damn technology, Damn you to hell from whence thee came.
Slowly, reluctantly my hand crept towards my pocket. My brain was screaming at my hand, “Damn you stop! Halt, I am in control! What the hell? You never listen to me. If I can ever get the other one to cut you off, you’re out of here.”
My hand, being too stupid or afraid, dutifully soldiered on, as if to say, “But we has to answer it. It is the master, we knows it. Mustn’t make the master angry.”
Retrieving the phone my hand rolled it over to show the display. The result of this call could not have been clearer if the display showed, “DOOM TO THEE”.
The phone vibrated again. BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ My thumb jumped out of sheer terror, hitting the green answer button.
Green, appropriate as my feet tinged with the same color.
Meekly I answered, “Hello?”
Maybe the lines at the central office got crossed and this was a call from Calgon and they were going to take me away. Maybe a stern official voice would say a single word, “Tannenbaum”, triggering my true persona constructed in a top secret lab. Sending me off on a mission to save kittens from the dangerous hands of communist toddlers (ya never know til ya get the call).
“Hey,” my ex said. The kind of hey that really says, “hey, get your sorry ass over here and help me before I force your testacies back up into your body”, you know the one.
Silence. I wonder how much pain is involved in shoving the twins back up inside?
“I need to come over her and help me.”
“Why?” The word leapt out before I could think. Damn faulty brain.
“Well, since you did not help me earlier, I had to rush and I cut one of the dowels the wrong length.”
‘I don’t understand?” Honestly I did not.
“Listen honey,” yeah that word was dripping with poison, “Just get over here and help me. I am having to hold this cake up and I have to get other things done.”
“Well just let the damn thing fall over…” I did not get the chance to finish before she hung up.
After 5 minutes of debating with myself, I gave in to my kind side and jumped in the truck and took off. Realizing that I had no idea where I was going I called her back.
I was greeted with a terse, “Yes?”
“I am on my way, but no idea where.”
“We are at the, what is this place again? Oh yeah that’s right. We are the at the Elk’s lodge.”
I must have misheard that, “You’re where?”
“Just get here.” Click.
Upon my arrival at the prestigious Elk’s lodge I hesitated at the top of the stairs. Looking at myself I was quite the site. Old flip flops on, feet shades of brown framed with green, dirty legs, cutoff camouflage shorts, dirty used to be white t-shirt, definitely a bit of a mess even for an Elk’s lodge wedding.
Spying my ex just inside the door, I cracked it opened, ‘Hey, I’m here but too messy,” she seized my hand yanking me inside. My fingers were wrapped around a plastic Romanesque column between cake tiers.
“Hold that. I gotta pee.” Was the command that was uttered as she vanished around the corner.
So there I stood. Dirty, sweaty, probably smelly. Yeah, most definitely smelly. Holding a plastic column in place on a wedding cake for a wedding that I had footed part of the bill for but not wanting to have anything to do with.
Fortunately there were only a few people milling about. I guessed my ex would arrive with a solution for the problem and I would be able to leave. Yeah, sure, that is how this is going to work out.
My ex reappeared after an eternity. She had her hand out as she approached me, “Give me your keys?”
“I need to go home and get another dowel. The car is blocked in by the pig pit.”
“I was at home. I could have brought you a dowel. Wait, a pig pit?”
“Listen you, if you had helped me with all this…anyways I need to go home and get the dowel.”
Mystified by all this I found my hand betraying me yet again and was handing my wife the keys. “I don’t understand how you are blocked by a pig pit?”
“I pulled up and parked in the wrong spot and now there are vehicles around me and a pig being roasted behind the car,” and out the door she went.
Minutes ticked off. More people started showing up. A fancy lawn chair was hauled in the door and down to the front row. I started to think this odd then look at my soiled form holding up a lavender wedding cake and brushed the oddity side.
The perspective bride waltzed in, wearing her lavender sheet. Literally it looked like she had taken a bed sheet and wrapped around herself. Coming over to look she remarked, “Doesn’t the cake look wonderful?”
I looked at her like she was nuts, “This cake? The same cake that a filthy guy is propping up so it does not end up in the floor? This cake that a person with no arms and no legs could do a better job putting fondant on? This cake? Sure, it looks as good as you do.”
She laughed a deep creepy, “I am attracted to you” laugh. ‘You’re so funny.” Lightly slapping my shoulder.
Is the bar open? I need a fifth, fuck that make it a gallon. Better yet can someone set me on fire? ‘What is with the lawn chair?”
“Oh, that is the only way my momma would show up. She doesn’t approve of who I am marrying. I have to go now, you know it is bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the wedding day,” the pile of dirty linen advised.
“Oh, that is the last of your worries,” I replied with a smile on my face.
People really started filing in now. It was awkward as I was right by the front door. Martha would have been so proud, such wonderful planning. Several people came by, deciding it was a good idea to strike up a conversation with me.
“Man, that sure is a purtyy cake aint it?”
“Good thing you’re here guardin it.”
“I’m not guarding it. I am holding this nuclear disaster up.”
“That a Nuclear cake? I read about them on the internet.” (That is not a joke that exchange happened).
This sort of exchange happened several times. Not once did anyone take notice of my hygienic state. Most would error on the side of delight and say they were just too focused on the joy of the day. I wager a guess that since I was only slightly less clean and my attire not far from what they were wearing that they just thought it was totally normal. Ya know, to have a filthy lawn worker show up to hold the wedding cake. If I were you I would consider it for your next wedding, you could start a new trend.
One the maids of blubber, I could tell as she was swathed in the same lavender bed sheet style moo moo, and set a boom box down beside the cake.
“When I point to you, press the play button.”
Looking around for someone else, I realized she must be talking to me, “Excuse me?”
Looking at me disgustedly she spoke slowly, “press PLAY when I point at you. This button right here. Ok?”
Smart ass gene flared to life burning like phosphorus through the belly of a soldier, ‘Oh yessa Miss lady. Isa sorry. Isa kind slow, but I gots it now, surely I do. Oh yessa miss, when yous kindly points to me Isa pushes the button right chere.”
“Good,” and she went down the ‘aisle’ to the front.
Oh great, the ceremony is going to start!
The reverend, Minister, Pastor, some fella who wasn’t busy, walked down the aisle. He shook everyone’s hand like he was running for wedding official or something, but once again not odd, not by any stretch.
At some point momma had shown up and was three quarters reclined in her lawn chair. I felt sorry for the molecules of whatever that webbing was made out of as she was thoroughly testing the strength of their chemical bonds.
Lavender moo moo number 1 pointed her sausage finger at me and dutifully I pressed play. Now most of the time it is traditional to hear the wedding march, at some wedding other though that is not the case. All of the sudden I hear Whitney Houston belting out Dolly Parton’s “I will always love you”.
The Bride appeared through the front door escorted by the sperm donor, sorry, Father. And they walked the slowest ever walk down to the waiting groom, who was wiping soot from his hands. I was my guess that he had been tending to the pig a few moments before.
I mean why wouldn’t he. After all it is just a wedding, his wedding. Ah the class that this man had. It had to be up there with Bond, James Bond, King Tut, and Sir Walter Raleigh.
The pair finally arrive at the, whatever he was, and he started his schpeell… Dearly beloved we are forced to be here to watch these two idiots join in what shall surely be a union that will last at least 6 maybe 7 months…yada yada yada.
When he arrived at the exchange of the rings, he held up his hand.
“Now I want to take a second and relate this wedding to real life.” He held up one of the rings, “This here represents a bond, the union between these two, kind of like a knot tied in a rope to hold something in place.”
What the fuck? A knot? A ring is a knot? Again, What the fuck?
“Friends, a lot of you know, I had always wanted a boat. A nice fast boat, y’all know the type I am talking bout. Well last year I went out and got one. Man is it purty. Joe,” points to a man in the crowd, “you’ve seen it. Well right after we got the boat we took a trip down the lake.
“Friends let me tell you, we had a time that day on the lake. We was flying round all over the place, loving life, you know those days, don’t ya.” Winking at his audience.
Dramatic pause, you know to let the words sink in. I looked at the crowd and saw people elbowing each other nodding to one another in affirmation (way too big of a word for this crowd) of the preacher’s sermon.
“The sun set, we came back to the dock, tied her up and headed for the hotel. We were coming back the next day for more fun.”
Another dramatic pause. He stands up straight, “Well that night a mighty wind,” his hands rose above his head swirling around, “rose up on the lake. When we came back out the next morning our boat was out in the middle of the lake. We had to get a ride out to it.”
The crowd was puzzled, they could not fathom how the boat got out in the middle of the lake. Was it a prank, did someone steal it and run it of gas, did the fish hate them for their haphazard driving the previous day. Pray tell what could have led to this dreadful situation? The more adept of you have probably already figured this out.
“Well friends you see, after the great day I did not take the time to tie my boat up properly. The wind the Lord summoned had ripped my precious boat from the dock, slamming it into other boats and pushing it out into the lake.”
All I can hope is that the bond,” holding the ring up high, “between these two is stronger than the knot I tied on my boat that night.”
Some of the audience applauded, and the preacher returned the ring and pronounced them ill fated, errrr husband and wife.
At this point my ex walks in with a bag from, Wal-Mart. “I couldn’t find the dowels at home so I had to go get some more, did I miss anything?”
“Do you have 2 quarters?” I asked.
“Think so, change is in the bag.”
I extracted 50 cents from the bag, placing them under the column I let the cake stand on its own, took me keys and left.