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Love is in the nose…I mean, the air

April 18, 2009

After attending our friends’ wedding yesterday, Tim and I have been reminiscing about our own nuptials.  We seem to do this every time we attend a wedding.  We talk about how lovely each other looked, about how delicious the cake was, about how magical it was to have all of our family and friends together in one spot, about how much fun we had during the celebration.  In fact, even during other wedding ceremonies, we often find ourselves silently repeating our vows to one another, squeezing each other’s hand every time the bride and groom utter their “I do’s.”  (Yes, we are incredibly corny, and yes, we are still in love.)

Somewhere about halfway down our tuxedo- and gowned stroll down memory lane, we reminisce about the event–the event–that left its most indelible (yet edible) mark on our wedding night: the cake.

cake2

The cake.

Weeks, perhaps even months, before our wedding, I had warned Tim that I did not want him to smash any cake in my face during the ceremonial “cake-swapping” tradition.  Although I am a playful and silly person through and through, having cake…well, caked on my face and possibly my dress did not seem like an enjoyable way to spend the reception.  So I reminded him, at the beginning of the reception, that I did not want to do the smashing.  Period.

But our dear Tim, strong of mind and heart as he may be, is also susceptible to peer pressure.  And his groomsmen–two of whom were good friends of mine from college–played the proverbial devil on Tim’s shoulder, convincing him that it would be hilarious to smear chocolate cake (with raspberry filling!) all over my face.  Obviously, none of them were married at the time.  Otherwise, they would have known better.  They would have known.

Now, you may think you know where this story is going.  “Oh, Tim smears cake on Kristen’s face and Kristen gets angry.  The end.”  But no.  No, that is not the story.

Again, before we joined hands and sliced that first piece of wedding cake with each other, I warned Tim not to smash the cake on my face.  I gave him the “evil eye.”  But I did this all playfully, and this may have been my mistake.  For Tim, dear sweet Tim, did not heed my warning.  He of little (husbandly) smarts proceeded to shove that delicious dessert right into my face.

Don't do it, Tim.

Don't do it, Tim.

I was still able to laugh–genuinely laugh–as the chocolate crumbles grazed my chin and cheeks.  And I was still able to laugh–genuinely laugh–as Tim kept smearing the cake up and up and up my face.  And I was even still able to laugh–half-heartedly laugh–as the particles of chocolate touched the rims of my nostrils.

But then I couldn’t laugh anymore because there was so much cake stuffed up my nose that I was literally unable to breathe.

I’ve been told that the room went silent, but I was too focused on panicking since I couldn’t breathe with half-a-freakin’-piece-of-cake up my nose.  In fact, the more I tried to breathe, the farther the cake traveled up my sinuses.  And soon tears began welling up in my eyes–not because I was distraught (though I was) or because I was stunned (though I was) but because chocolate cake with raspberry filling really stings when it gets snorted up faster than a pile of cocaine at Studio 57.

Can't...breathe...

Can't...breathe...

Everyone in the room must have thought that I was a prissy, humorless bridezilla because I quickly stormed out of the reception hall–again, not because I was so angry with Tim (though I was) but because I didn’t want to blow out a wad of snot-cake in front of 200 people.  (Just to give you some idea of how much cake I had inhaled, I was blowing chocolate specks into my tissues for weeks.  Yes, weeks.)

When I returned to my table  (after a few volcanic nasal-clearances), I discovered everyone at our table (i.e. our parents and siblings) was worried about Tim.  Yes, Tim.  The one who tried to feed cake to my brains.  The one who was five minutes late for his on-his-knees-crying-in-my-lap grovelling session.  The one who had been warned multiple godforsaken times not to smash the darned cake in my face!  (Okay, and yes, the one who had just legally bound himself to a sharp-tongued, potentially vengeful bride.)

The air was tense (and, to me at least, quite chocolatey).  I knew that something had to be done to defuse the situation.  I was not about to allow my wedding night to ruined because of an overdose of co-cake!

And so I did what only a super-bride could do.

I tapped my downtrodden husband on the shoulder and shoved a green bean up my nose.

The ensuing laughter gave way to an enjoyable, relaxed wedding reception…and, I must say, to a marvelous, loving marriage.  (Needless to say, that husband of mine sure is lucky that his sharp-tongued, vengeful wife has such a good sense of humor!)

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5 Comments leave one →
  1. renbeth permalink
    April 19, 2009 12:01 pm

    Oh, Kristen. I’m not sure “sharp-tongued” and “vengeful” are the top words that come to mind when I think of you . . . though Tim maybe did deserve some sharp-tongued revenge 🙂

    I guess if he had just played nice, though, you wouldn’t have this classic wedding story. Tim really is the hero, after all, hmmm?

  2. BirthingBeautifulIdeas permalink*
    April 19, 2009 5:23 pm

    That’s because you’ve never crossed me. Just ask my family–they’ve been the recipients of my sharp tongue many a time!

    And given your characterization, I guess it just goes to show that I (super-bride) am the hero, for without Tim’s bad judgment, I would never have saved the day with my great sense of humor and a green bean. 🙂

  3. renbeth permalink
    April 19, 2009 8:01 pm

    I suppose you can both be the heroes in one way or another. And though I believe that you can give a vicious tongue lashing when one is called for, I stand by my strong belief that “sharp-tongued” is not one of your defining characteristics.

  4. Kinsey permalink
    April 20, 2009 4:40 pm

    oh, kristen. i feel like you left out the best part…you know, where you end up on antibiotics throughout your honeymoon for your ensuing sinus infection:) my poor sister. still one of the best weddings ever.

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