Let Them Eat Cake!

By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher

True love – a girl and her cake.

Apparently as of last week I have been married to Mr. Kaminski for 29 years.  I realize math is hard, but I can’t quite fathom that particular timeframe since I am fairly certain I’m only 29-years-old. I have proof.  Every year when my birthday rolls around my precious baby boy tells me without hesitation, “Happy 29th birthday Momma!”  And he’s smart and really good at math.

I mean, I feel like I’m 29-years-old, and I absolutely believe that I’m only 29-years-old along with all of the other people who live in my head, so it must be true.  So clearly this anniversary number is either incorrect, or it means that I was betrothed in utero.

Mr. Kaminski is quite tickled at me being in such a state over this number.  “But 29 years is a really long time,” I told him.  “But it feels so much longer,” was his retort.  I’ll miss him.

You would think there would be a great deal of pomp and circumstance over this monumental moment in matrimony, but this year, I’m not feeling all that complicated.  I asked for cake.  I thought it was a reasonable request.  Mr. Kaminski did not share my opinion.

“I cannot possibly get you a cake at this late notice,” was his reply.  I asked for cake on Thursday.  The big day was Sunday.  The Lord made the world in six days.  I felt Mr. Kaminski could procure a cake in three.

Now let me be clear.  I wasn’t asking for a cake shaped like a Tiffany box or a Louis Vuitton purse or even a heart.  Been there, done that.  I just wanted a good cake, one that tasted good.  I really didn’t care what it looked it, because I truly love cake.  It’s my thing – the one dessert I will never pass up.  And I did provide parameters.  I was clear I did not want a grocery store cake, because I really don’t think those paltry pastries taste up to par.  Sorry grocery store bakery lovers.  Those cakes are just not my jam.  No, I wanted to real bakery cake, and I didn’t even specify a flavor.  I mean, after 29 years if the man doesn’t know what flavors I prefer, he’s got much bigger problems than outsourcing a cake for me.

And resources?  I had three excellent cake resources in my phone, because I am a resourceful kinda girl, and I even gave them to Mr. Kaminski.  Honestly, you would have thought I asked him to fly across the world, find diamond mogul Robert Mouawad and steal Elizabeth Taylor’s 68 carat diamond ring that Richard Burton bought her. And get it resized because Elizabeth was a tiny little thing, and I’m full grown.  Now that would have been a Herculean task.  A cake?  Not so much.

Saturday morning rolled around, and Mr. Kaminski headed out early in Bonita.  I did request that she get a bath, and some annoying tire censors were blinking on the dash board.  Fleet maintenance is not my department in our marriage.  I wrote that in our vows.

I wasn’t in a hurry to be up and about, because if a simple request of a cake was taking Mr. Kaminski down, there couldn’t be much else on the celebratory calendar.

Still in my jammies, I was startled to baby boy walking in the house announcing we were going to lunch.  Since one of the products of this 29-year foray showed up to pay homage, things were looking up.  Sure enough Mr. Kaminski showed up a few minutes later, and you’ll never believe what he had in tow?  You guessed it – a cake!  Turns out pastry procurement wasn’t such a Herculean task after all.  Guess I’ll stick around and see what 30 years brings – and I’ll definitely think of something much more challenging and expensive to wish for.  See y’all next week – on the porch!


Patti Parish-Kaminski

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