Prologue: When it Happened

                                    

                                          
Prologue:  When it happened 
                          
     You probably think you know what cake feels like. 
                          
     That seemingly blissful second when you pull the fork away from your lips and all you're left with is creamy, spongy sweetness. It fills your taste buds and releases those feel good endorphins in your brain.  
                          
     That's wrong though. If you think cake feels that way you are completely and totally wrong. 
                          
     Now I do hold my hands up in surrender against all the bakers currently throwing their oven mitts at me. Since you went to culinary school, or even watched a few baking tutorials on YouTube, you seem to know what cake feels like. The perfect way to ice it, carve it, mold it to your liking, and mush it into cake pops.  
                          
     You're right in that sense, but yet still wrong. 
                          
     Cake is not spongy, nor creamy, squishy, nor smooth, crumbly, nor firm. 
                          
     Cake, believe it or not, is sticky and wet. 
                          
     How do I know this? Well... that's easy. 
                          
     I was running, but plum wedges made it more like quick shuffling. My heels obnoxiously clomped against the banquet room's hardwood floor and my matching plum dress chaffed my inner thighs. With each step I took I only gained more eyes and those eyes only granted more silence. 
                          
     It was a slow, yet unavoidable process. The wave of silence falling like a blanket behind me; falling on each person I passed as the only noise remained with me and the chicken relentlessly clucking merely five steps ahead of me. 
                          
     For some reason this chicken wanted revenge on me. Maybe it's because I tried to return him so many times after he was practically dropped at our doorstep only months before, or maybe it's because I named him Cluckie without his consent, but I'll never know. 
                          
     Maybe the world just wanted revenge on me like these last few months haven't been torture enough—like planning for this wedding wasn't torture enough. Life was getting back at me for some reason, but I couldn't seem to figure out why in the midst of my chicken chasing. The only thing on my mind was that I certainly wasn't sorry I ate chicken nuggets the other day and that I'll probably get a rash tomorrow from the fabric of this dress. 
                          
     I certainly wasn't prepared for what was coming next.
                          
    It all happened so slow, yet so fast. I feel like a part of me even expected it. On the one day I promised I wouldn't screw up. On the one day everything was actually going right for once. 
                          
    Life threw me a curve ball and laughed when it hit me in the face. When the chicken ran under something white and I committed murder for the first time. The murder of a three layer, white iced, florally designed, chocolate mousse wedding cake, all with just my face. 
                          
     That's why I know cake is sticky and wet. 
                          
     Now you no longer have to be fooled and deceived by its innocent taste. Unlike the rest of the world you are now aware of what cake actually feels like and the fact that I have possibly changed someone's life with this information is my only hope right now because by doing that, I also have ruined my older sister's wedding. 
                          
     You're welcome.
                          
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