Thursday, September 15, 2011

The Wedding Cake

So there I am, middle of the afternoon, casually cruising down the M1 headed home and rather pleased with myself for having evaded the craziness that is Joburg traffic during peak hour.
Suddenly my mobile rings and snaps me out of my deliciously soothing admiration of the burning red sky before me.

Me : Hello?
Caller : Hello Sir. This is Cindy. I'm calling to say that your cake is ready.
Me : What cake?
Caller : Your wedding cake Sir.
Me : MY WHAT?!!!!
(at this point I almost drove into a bridge, as you can imagine)
Caller : Your wedding cake Sir. Didn't you order a wedding cake?
Me : Why would I order a wedding cake? I'm married for over 10 years already!
Caller : Maybe your wife ordered it.
Me : Let's think about that statement for a second, shall we?
Caller : *click*

Now I'm not saying men in general are averse to discussing the topic of marriage and all the little picadillos that go along with it, like color schemes and serviettes and wedding cakes and flower arrangements and seating arrangements and music and and and.....
For most guys, or guys like myself at least, we're pretty happy leaving that all up to our better halves. Besides, if they're gonna be spending the rest of their lives controlling everything we do and deciding what shoes goes with what socks goes with what shirt goes with what tie like we've never dressed ourselves up independently before until the day we met them, we might as well give them an early start and have them do it all before we even get to say 'I Do'.

Lord knows I dressed like a circus clown on acid before I met my missus.
Sometimes I wonder what she saw in me. Really.
Maybe she had a fetish for circus clowns on acid with bad fashion sense. I don't know.

Anyways, if you really want to put the fear of God into a guy, married or single, call him and tell him that some aspect of the wedding will be left up to him. His wedding or anyone else's.
Anything. Any aspect of that big day.
It doesn't matter how miniscule or inconsequential it may sound. As soon as a guy knows that you are trusting him with a minor detail on the wedding day, he'll smile politely while freaking the fuck out inside!
You could tell him that he must remember to feed the dogs before getting dressed and coming to the wedding venue. As true as day, he will poison the dog, and come to the venue dressed like a circus clown on acid.
Not because he intended to do either of those things, but merely because we as guys know how the universe can conspire against us when we least expect it. History has countless tales of men who, through no fault of their own, went from being competent reliable gentleman to blithering idiots in the span of 24 hours.
My theory is that all men suffer from an allergic reaction to wedding cake.
Whether it be the mention of the word, or the sight of a 3-tier symbol of oppression.

All men die a little death each time they hear those words 'Wedding Cake' or whenever they see one.

So anyways, back to Cindy.
This woman was so convinced I had ordered a wedding cake, she actually called me back.
That's the strange thing about women.
You could tell them NO a hundred times, and they won't hear you. But whisper YES from 300 yards and they're on you like Priests at a Boy Scout meeting.
You don't believe me? Try this the next time your wife or girlfriend asks if she can use your car or Credit Card.
So Cindy call's me back and pretends like we never spoke just 5 minutes ago. Except this time when she asks if I ordered the cake, I say YES.

She asks if I will collect or should they have it delivered, and I say they should have it delivered.
She asks me for an address and I tell her Arthur House in Kyalami.
It's a homeless shelter. Why waste good cake, I figure.

Besides, I might have just saved some poor bastard from an allergic reaction to wedding cake!