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Icing Smear |
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I wandered over to the table set my cake down with a smile and looked into two very disgusted faces. "This isn't a Bridal Cake," one of the scowling faces said. "You can't enter this," said the other. I felt myself teetering on two options; I could apologize profusely and remove this hideous monster or make a break for it and just run leaving the cake behind. Instead I surprisingly switched gears and responded, "Yes, ... I can." For the next ten minutes we argued back and forth on whether my cake would be admitted. I had broken no rules, but they disliked my entry because of its bright color and argued that it wasn't a good example of a bridal cake. I had become stubborn and was bound and determined that this little cake that I'd spent so much time on was not being rejected. After a supervisor was called and nasty looks were exchanged, my little misfit was put in the case with all the normal cakes. |
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I didn't win a ribbon, but it didn't matter. I was proud of my cake and a little proud of myself for standing up on its behalf. It felt a little like this was the end of a chapter in my journey. Making cakes had done so much to build my self-assurance and now I could fight for my cakes. This feeling bled into work, school, and my social life. I work hard to challenge myself and learn new techniques. I come home worn-out and with icing smeared on my clothes and face and, it’s the best feeling in the whole world.
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I’m surrounded by people who support me and without them I may never have made it. Without cable, I may never have had the idea. I owe my life to my Mom and Dad who glued me back together when I fell apart. My loving partner-in-crime Brandon who listens to me talk about cakes morning and night. My friends who take care of me and taste test my creations. My Grandmother for helping me to understand love can be in food, and, Ace of Cakes for being my inspiration into the world of Pastry Arts.
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