The King of Cake is Dead

Have you ever been to a bridal expo? Unless you have a vagina, probably not. Bridal expos basically contain an endless series of booths presenting brides-to-be with possible caterers, photographers, invitation makers, dress makers, cake makers, reception halls, DJs, travel agencies, and anything and everything else wedding-related. And if you don't know, weddings are fucking expensive, so the people running the expos throw in drawings and raffles for free stuff at every stop, and then watch the crowds descend in droves.

Admittedly, I am not the manliest man that ever manned up to the world. I don't hunt, I don't drive a pickup, and I don't know the way to the gun show. However, that doesn't mean that I'm personally equipped with female genitalia. Nor do I have any interest in the general wedding planning business. I certainly care what my own wedding will look like, and I am more than willing to provide my input on things, and generally provide whatever help my bride-to-be would like.

Accordingly, being the supportive (and financially wanting) groom-to-be that I am, I agreed to accompany pH to a bridal expo this morning. I will say this - it wasn't horrifying. In fact, as an avid lover of cake and once-dubbed "King of Cake," I was dazzled by the bountiful cake samples available. So I went a little nuts. I sampled cake after cake after cake. And maybe I'm just off my game, but I started to get a little sick. I sampled cakes from the first 4-5 places or so. Then I started to get a lot sick. But the cake makers, they did not stop. At first, I began averting my eyes. Then I had to start running away. The King of Cake could handle no more.

So in the end, the worst part for me wasn't the endless weddingocity of it all.

It was the shame.

The King of Cake is dead. Long live the king.