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Runaway Bride

It’s really unfortunate that it came to this.

This was not a post I ever intended to have to write. But really bad things happen when you combine a stressed out bride, Mexican food and cake.

Really bad.

But let’s back up. In fairness to all parties involved, it’s important to share the facts before jumping to conclusions.

The fiance’s mom invited my team captain/maid of honor (DD Girl) and I over to taste samples of wedding cake in order to pick flavors for each layer. DD Girl and I met ahead of time at a nearby Mexican restaurant. We shared a bowl of cheese dip and I had a chile relleno (I clearly can’t make them; I might as well get them where I can.) and some refried beans.

I mean, I knew I was going to be eating cake with butter cream centers, so why even try to be healthy for dinner?

When we got to the fiance’s parents house, his mom was busy fussing around her catering kitchen in the basement. Apparently she had fixed five flavors of cake and mocked up mini designs of her wedding cake concept for us to preview. Apparently she is also amazing, but that’s probably another post.

We visited for a bit and then her neighbor/best friend showed up to help us taste. We were sitting around, drinking champagne and enjoying brainstorming the final touches for the cake when, I felt a very uncomfortable rumble in my stomach.

This is not good. Maybe it will pass in a few. (No pun intended.)

The fiance’s mom brought down plates and forks for each and began cutting into the mini cakes. Beginning with the chocolate, she cut small slices of the rich velvety cake filled with buttery chocolately filling.

The fiance’s dad came down and commented on our little cake party.

There went that stomach thing again.

Ok, ok. I get it. Just calm down. Wait until after the cake tasting.

I bit into the cake. Oh wow, it was rich and yummy and ohmygodI have togonow. Go. go. go.

I jumped up, declared I needed to use the restroom, squeezed past the neighbor and went tearing up the stairs, straight past the fiance’s dad watching TV in the living room to the hallway bathroom. No time for chit chat.

ohgodohgod. Not now!

So this is how it happens. This is how you become a runaway bride. At your own cake tasting.

It was bad. My intestinal track was not happy with my life/food choices and it was letting me know.

I kept trying to go back downstairs, only to return to my spot. My nice little spot. Damn this spot.

In what seemed like an eternity later, I was ready to return to the tasting. I looked in the mirror and saw my red face matched the humiliation.

Maybe no one will notice how long I’ve been gone. I’m sure it wasn’t long. I was just self-conscious because the fiance’s mom did all this work and I was in the bathroom, of all places.

I began my descent down the stairs and I heard DD Girl, go, “Man! Are you ok? We were worried about you.”

Yeah, they noticed.

I looked at everyone’s mostly eaten plate and my plate with every flavor untouched but the chocolate.

Mortified, I explained my poor dinner choice combined with wedding and other life stressors had led to my quick departure.

But, that I was feeling much better and ready to get the show on the road.

Um, the show was over, but they humored me. 

And then the fiance’s mom started telling hilarious bathroom stories from her recent visit to his grandmother’s retirement community for a dinner show.  And all was right and well with the world again. Because it’s ok to run away for a bit. As long as you come back to laugh about it.

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To Smoosh?

A real conversation with the fiance’s mom:

FM: What kind of cake do you guys want? (she is making it.)

F: Makes a face of indifference. (He isn’t big on cake.) I probably won’t eat any.

Me: Yeah, all you care about is the cake smoosh. I know your type. You are such a smoosher.

FM: Woah. No you won’t! I think it is totally awful and aggressive when people do that. I won’t make your cake if you are going to smoosh it in her face. If you want to smoosh it all over her body later, then that’s fine but promise me you won’t smoosh it in her face.

Me: Jaw on the table. Covering my mouth. I can’t believe she just said that!

F: Shrugs. He knows his family.

FM: PROMISE!

F: Fine.

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