Thursday, September 6, 2012
On Labor Day, we were at my parents' house. Nick heroically fixed their Netflix (hint: it was never broken) and we ate my mom's wonderful homemade pizza and I blew raspberries on Lucy the rottweiler's belly. As you do. It came up that our first anniversary is soon and my mom lit up. "Oh, you'll have to take your cake with you!"
....They saved cake for us! Wrapped it up at the reception and stuck it in the freezer and never mentioned it.
If you'd asked me last year if I needed someone to save some cake for our anniversary, I'd have said, eh, don't bother. Now, it feels like a little frozen time capsule. How creepy and intriguing is this tradition, though?
My mom's grandfather saved the top tier of his wedding cake encased in a bell jar from his 1910s wedding until his death in the late 70s. The years turned it all gray and sunken like Comrade Lenin. What can I say, I come from weird stock.
I had to put my foot down in the car on the way home. Nick suggested having a nibble of it because he was hungry. I said if my folks went to the trouble to preserve it for us the least we could do is not, ohhh, eat it with our bare paws in the goddamn car on not-our-anniversary. (I admit though that I was also hungry and could really see where he was coming from, for some reason.)