Please welcome Sharon Ihle to the blog this week. Fittingly for the month of June, Sharon has a warning all brides must hear, so that they can make sure that someone guards the wedding cake at all times! I think I’ll take that duty at my daughter’s wedding (but don’t ask to check under my fingernails…I’ll have to refuse under the grounds I may incriminate myself).
Let this be a warning for all you brides-to-be; there is a stealthy woman out there known as ‘Cake Finger,’ and she might just surprise you by taking what we’ll call liberties with your wedding cake. (Note: this warning does not apply to brides who insist on whipped cream or non-dairy frosting.)
To those who prefer truly satisfying buttercream or even lard frosting, I strongly suggest you hire a friend or trusted family member (pick me, pick me!) to guard your wedding cake during the festivities. I’ve attended many weddings over the years and Cake Finger always manages to get a swipe of frosting before the bride and groom have the opportunity to smear it across one another’s lips.
Cake Finger has been doing this for years. It is almost like a badge of honor. During one truly outrageous moment, she even had the audacity to raise her frosting-laden finger on high and made sure the mother of the bride (her best friend at the time) saw this display before destroying the evidence in a truly tasteful way.
At yet another event, Cake Finger was dancing a rather raucous polka with her own husband, and managed to whirl and twirl her way to the cake table where she took her swipe without slowing down or even missing a beat. And nobody was the wiser, not even her husband who noticed she had something white on her lip.
This went on for more years than I can count. Even brides who dared to thwart her by offering a cupcake tree instead of a cake, were doomed to be outsmarted by Cake Finger. At the height of her career, she’d perfected the art of slicing off a frosting rose or decoration, then fluffing the resulting void in a way that went completely undetected. Oh those were heady times for Cake Finger. And then the unthinkable happened.
At the very last wedding she attended, the joining of two very dear friends, the bride ignorantly asked Cake Finger if she would do her the honor of cutting the cake at her wedding. HUH? I tried to warn her, honestly, I really did, but she was intent on having me … uh, Cake Finger … do the honors of cutting her special cake. It was something, let me tell you; the wedding was cowboy themed, the cake a lovely rendition of a chuck wagon pulled by a team of plastic horses. Frosting flowers, reins, pots and pans, and other doodads decorated the cake as well as the tray it rested upon. What was Cake Finger to do?
I can’t talk about it anymore. The moment was too disturbing and yet gratifying at the same time. Cake Finger did a magnificent job that day, to the point of almost passing out from a sugar high, and even managed to blame most of the carnage on uninvited guests who must have made a run at the cake. So again, you lovely brides-to-be out there, I warn you; hire someone to watch over your special cakes. I’m available most weekends. And I know what the thief looks like!
Kathleen Lacey O’Carroll knew she faced an uncertain future when she arrived in Wyoming as a mail-order bride—especially when she learned that the man she was to marry hadn’t actually ordered her. How could John Winterhawke, a fiercely independent and unsettling handsome half-Indian possibly make room in his heart and in his life for her?
As far as Hawke was concerned, the last thing he needed was a high-spirited, overeager Irish wife who knew nothing about surviving on the harsh prairie. But once the determined Lacey sensed the rough kindness and simmering hunger under Hawke’s forbidding demeanor, she set out to match his dark passion with her own—and claim his wild heart on her terms.
Sharon Ihle is the best-selling author of more than a dozen award-winning historical romances set in the American West. A lifelong Californian, Sharon recently moved from the sunny beaches of San Diego to the frozen plains of North Dakota. Hard to believe, but it’s true.