That night, my piece was scrumptious. I wasn’t sated, though. Something wasn’t altogether right. What perhaps detracted from its zest were the accumulated annoyances of others’ neuroses. It’s amazing how fanatical people get when it’s somebody else’s turn in the spotlight. Moments ran through my head, as the chocolate fought to settle into my deep, dark insides.
Next, onto Dad.He adorned a white top to accent his all-black suit. “How’s my tie? Do I look okay?” “Sure, dad,” I said with confidence. “The pimp look is in this year.”
No time for condolences. The music was starting.
“See ya,” I said as my new husband departed solo in a car decorated by “Just Married” and “Down with Bush.”
One clear thought occupied my frontal lobe as the last crumb settled in: More! More cake. Let me eat more cake.
I ran back into the sanctuary kitchen and haphazardly wrapped the remainder of wedding cake.
That particular cake was purely sweet and deliciously, even if not altogether right.