Tell Us About Your Wedding Cake Disasters

Illustration for article titled Tell Us About Your Wedding Cake Disasters

This one is gonna hurt.

By request, this week we want to hear everything that went wrong with your wedding cake. Did it topple off its stand before you even got to cut it? Did it arrive smooshed due to a transit mishap? Did your bratty little cousin stick her fingers in the frosting when your auntie wasn’t paying attention?


Did it just suck?

Tell us all about the crimes against buttercream that were committed at your wedding, and we’ll return to this space on Thursday to lament the treatment of your delicious, delicious cake.

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My aunt Bonnie’s second wedding was a small affair in Lake Tahoe. Her cake was from a chain grocery store, which, since it was located Tahoe, did regular wedding cake business and had a pretty large bakery section. My aunt’s fiancé, Steve, picked up the cake the morning of the wedding and came back to the cabin we were renting looking gray. He handed me the cake and told me not to let my Aunt see it. We opened the box and inside was what looked like a leftover baby shower cake that said in shaky writing “Congratudashions Bonne + Sleve.” You could also see where some pink piping had been scraped off and redone in white. Also, a plus sign? WTF??

My aunt of course walked in then, took one look and burst in to tears. I took it back to the bakery and went straight to the manager. I asked her to please redo the lettering, as it was embarrassingly bad. She told me she didn’t have time to do it that day because the orders were so back up. Latina Rage Activated:

Me: “Are you proud of this cake? Is this something you’d ever want to admit to doing?”

Bakery Manager: “Well, I didn’t do it.” <points to young frightened worker behind her> “She did it. It’s her first day.”

Me: (very loudly) “Then why the fuck are you having her do wedding cakes if it’s her first day? It’s not her fault this is crap. It’s yours. And now you are blaming her? Shame on you.”

At this point doughy the store manager comes over and he tries to quiet me. I show him the cake and tell him how the fuckwit in charge of the bakery thinks it’s fine. He gives her a look like, oh great, not again. And she flat out tells him “I think it’s fine and I’m not having any of my people change it.” He looks at me defeated and impotent. I. Am. Dumbfounded.

I stomp over to the floral section, which is near the bakery, grab two dozen roses, and yell to the manager “I’m walking out of here with these, I’m not paying, and you useless cunts know why”.

I went back to the cabin, scraped off the lettering, and covered the top with roses. My aunt was very happy and cried again. And that’s how I first got into the wedding industry.