The Wedding Cake

Hubby has been over several times this morning, helping me with the wedding cake. I was short an ingredient, I wanted a different-sized board, I needed help with the engineering part of figuring out how to support the weight of the flowers on the top (tiny) tier.

And for weeks now half the house has been dedicated to cake paraphernalia. Poor Boyfriend hasn't had a meal at a table in over a month.

Boyfriend has also handed over his debit card. Many times. To me, and to Daughter. Oh, and lent the car to Daughter, and to me. And filled it up with gas after my many excursions to Ares, Bulk Barn, Michael's, and Omer Deserres. And Fabricville.

And Maxi, and Loblaws, and Metro, and Provigo.

Boyfriend has also had to pick up my share of the housekeeping during this past month. And cooking. And shopping. And grass-cutting. And laundry. And vacuuming.

Pretty much anything I do around here, he's had to take over.

And so today it hit me, as Hubby was leaving after having dropped yet another thing off for me -

It takes a village to make a wedding cake!

And, just for interest's sake, here's what my kitchen looks like. (And people ask me why I don't do this for a living!)

Fossil

In 24 days, the baby girl I gave birth to will be getting married. *sniff!

I'm doing the wedding cake, Montreal bridal shower, and the garter. Oh, and the speech traditionally given by the Father-of-the-Bride, because Daddy is  very nervous about public speaking. 

I'm thrilled to be doing all this...but I do wish I had paid more attention in gym class when I was a girl. Or that my various gym teachers had said plainly,
"You won't see any difference in the quality of your life for 45 more years, but if you stop exercising, you'll be in a nursing home by the time you're 60. If you keep exercising, you put that off by at least 20 years."

I'm bloody decrepit for my age! And fat! These issues by themselves wouldn't ordinarily land someone in trouble, but I'm  also the proverbial bull-in-the-china-shop. 

Let's be clear: at work, when I slam doors, lightbulbs shatter.

I never learned to be soft-spoken or gentle in my manners, and that also translates to my movements.

I'm an elephant. Moving with the speed of a charging bull.

So, I wrenched my knee (of course!) and have been in considerable pain, which slows me down most annoyingly! 

So here I've been, back and forth for physiotherapy, MRIs, cortisone injections, etc. And it's 24 days till the wedding, and one of the things I have to get done is my hair.

See? This won't do AT ALL!

So off I went to the Mall, intending to go to my favourite coiffeuse. They are my favourites, you understand, because they are close to where I live.

I can walk there.

But they have gone out of business.

I was actually standing just at the end of The Bay, gawking my disappointment in the direction of the closed-up shop, when saleslady from the Bay said, "Yes, they closed last week." Then she smiled at me and said "You know, Madame, that we have a salon here at the Bay. It's just over there..."

I nodded and started to plod in that direction, my head hanging low. I wasn't really old enough to have my hair done at The Bay, was I?

Well, I made an appointment. Sigh.

Walking towards the exit, I was in the middle of the displays of shoes and handbags. One display in particular caught my eye, and in fact seemed to be pointing a finger at me and snickering for all the world. The brand name is:

FOSSIL.

Yep. That's me. I is officially a fossil now.

"I know just how ugly I are.

I know that my face ain't no star.

But still, I don't mind it - 

Because I'm behind it! -

It's folks out in front get the jar!"

I