The Cake. The Wedding.

Remember that cake I told you I got suckered into making? Well, I got someone to answer my Craigslist ad (before it got flagged, thanks asshole(s)!) and wore my sexiest square dancing outfit, and hauled all my cake stuff over to this guy's joint. It was a real dump, but at least the oven worked. Of course, since I had posted my ad in the "Casual Encounters" section, he was all about getting down to business. I took my time mixing up my batters and pouring them into the pan. Inexplicably, he had several Wilton cake pans shaped like "Sesame Street" muppets, so I trashed my original idea and decided to make this wedding cake a true work of art.

Well, I did not realize the guy's wife (wife?) had put her stash of Little Debbie snack foods in the oven, to keep her husband from finding out she was cheating on her diet. Luckily, the boxes and wrappers had burst into flames before he and I had hit the sheets, so no adultery had taken place (except in his cheating heart). While he was trying to coax me into the bedroom (like I can be wooed by velvet sheets), I had to find a way to get all of those burning oatmeal cakes and Swiss cake rolls out of there. His tongs were too big, so I ended up knocking the oven rack loose, and all my pans flipped, causing the batter to slide out onto the bottom of the oven.

I was able to rescue enough of the Little Debbies, so I came up with a new plan, kind of like Paula Deen does when she's short a few sticks of butter. I laid out snacks in a kind of circular pattern and gave each mound a generous icing with my Albertson's store brand whipped topping. The Craigslist guy had been dipping scorched Cosmic Brownies into one of them, so I came up short. Then his wife came home abruptly from her all-night Bingo marathon and all hell broke loose.

Needless to say, without a cake to present to my stripper friend, I had to come up with a Plan B. So I told her that I saw her fiance out peeking in Betty Nut's bedroom window the night before, and she left him at the altar. It was a win-win-win situation in the end. I didn't have to worry about the cake, my stripper pal is happier being single, and her fiance confessed that he really did have a thing for Betty Nut. She's like 87.

Gross.

This is the gift I bought. Now I'm out $4, because the guy at
the flea market doesn't give refunds.