This is entirely fiction. Completely. Utterly. Except for any true bits
July 10th. While at morning ablutions, am told cake designer due at 10am and I will ‘entertain’ her until First Born and First Of Her Name return from the latest session with wedding designer – some issue involving lace and what I understand to be some emergency escape arrangement. ‘Don’t upset her.’
10am. Worryingly slight woman appears with trolley of Tupperware. ‘I’m the cake designer’. How can she make cakes and stay so slim?
10.05am. Life is on an uptick. Tupperware contain samples of possible cake types and am offered opportunity to taste. Worry that First Of Her Name might not approve but am assured will be okay.
10.10am Am aware of kerfuffle, while in kitchen making coffee. Find cake designer and family dog, Spiro Agnew in standoff over cake slice that Spiro Agnew appears to have sequestered to himself.
10.12am Cake designer desperately trying to make Spiro Agnew vomit; said cake slice contains twenty-seven percent currants. Spiro Agnew thinks is a good game. Cake designer mortified that Spiro Agnew will die. Try to reassure her Spiro Agnew is a robust cross breed – a PooRot Poodle-Rottweiler cross. As explaining Spiro Agnew vomits into Tupperware.
10.30am. Much relief all round. Sit in garden with cake designer over coffee while watching unaffected dog bury unidentified item of clothing next to petunias. Fiancé appears, for cake decision. Suggest he goes and looks at samples.
10.40am. First Of Her Name, First Born and Fiancé join us in garden. Realise Fiancé is spooning cake vomit from Tupperware into mouth with gusto. Hurriedly stand between Fiancé and cake designer while making two mental notes, viz:
1. I no longer have any fears that he will cope with marriage to First Born if he can ingest regurgitated cake; and
2. we need to go to the pub as soon as possible.