When we last left off the wedding was just around the corner, the cake looked like a giant piece of pink sidewalk gum, and I was lying on the couch, post-tantrum, looking for inspiration from afternoon TV. "What would Martha do"? I asked, but the moment a potential solution popped into my head an even more compelling reason for its inevitable failure would emerge in its place. 3 minutes turned to 4 and soon to 6 and still no answer, then it hit me, the one word, the one thing that would save the day: ribbon!!
WARNING: The following section deals with behaviour suggesting an alternative lifestyle. Small children and fundamentalists should leave the room in a quick and orderly fashion.
This of course would require some bold and quasi-gay action on my part but when push comes to shove one does what one must! Now, unlike what many of you typical Blob readers are thinking I didn't **** with a ***** while some anonymous man ****** *** **** in my ****.
Nor did several youngish **** **** me with a *** while *****ing on ** ****!!
What I actually ended up doing was going to a fabric store in search of the proper type of ribbon and carrying with me a piece of the troublesome pink fondant to do some color matching. I was, of course, the only male in the store except for one guy who the sales staff kept referring to as "Cynthia" and I did feel like a straight fish in a gay pond. Just when I felt like chickening out I thought of the bride and how she'd kill me on her special day and this was all the motivation I would need. I found my ribbon, asked some kind and matronly women for a 2nd and 3rd opinion and was on my way. Soon the transformation was complete...the cake that is..... not me.
I didn't start ******* an ***** or ***ing a ***** with a greased ***** just cause I went to a fabric store with a piece of pink icing to buy some red ribbon.
And so it was that the cake was rendered presentable and the wedding saved. The premiere of Quebec, the honourable Jean Charest, never got to taste a piece, opting out of the meal when he learned that a leading mafioso would also be in attendance.
Here he is with the bride and a ridiculously small dog. He shook my hand on the way out so he is now assured of my vote in the upcoming election.
(I'm easily swayed, what can I say??)
The guests ate the wedding cake with gusto and were wholely unaware that the ribbon was covering a multitude of decorative sins.
While I received many words of thanks and a healthy round of applause I mustn't forget to thank my sous-chef (pictured below) and the restaurant staff for all their help.
I also want to thank the mafia Don (pictured below) for getting me that deal on the ribbon and for not having one of his boys nail my hand to the restaurant's kitchen counter after an incident with the raspberry coulis.
And what of the comely "neurosis" of sopranos that some of you (one of you) has been clamoring to know more about?
Well it was hot in the church and as the ceremony wore on and on one thing led to another. You know how sopranos are....(pictured below)