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The Misadventures of Mrs. B: Sweet nothings...

Cook. Writer. Wife. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Klutz.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Sweet nothings...




My husband and I are halfway through our 5th month of marital bliss. It seems like 5 years, and I'm not exaggerating. I guess because I spent so much time and energy working towards the wedding, time has just stretched out like taffy in the post-wedding months.

I was quite the crafty bride and arranged all of the bouquets and bouts myself, as well as the centerpieces. One day I will have good pictures to post here, because I really am proud of the work I did. Do I wish I'd had more time that day to just relax/stress with nothing to do? Sure. But that's just the way it was. I'll never forget sitting in my mom's backyard at 6AM the day of my wedding, making bouts, eating a cheese sandwich on rye bread. It was still dark outside. And the fact that I was getting married in 11 hours was far too surreal. But I did, and it flew by in the blink of an eye. And then we went to Disney World. Which is a post or two unto itself.

Marriage has been good so far. Neither of us has changed into an unrecognizable monster, much to the disappointment of people who ask questions like "Yeah, well now you're MARRIED, I guess everything's different, right, har har har?". You know those people. I much prefer being asked nice questions, like "What's your favorite part about being married?". I usually use fuzzy catch-words like companionship and stability and friendship, because those are the things people want to hear. And I mean all of it, truly I do. But that's not really the best part.
What's really the best part of being married 5 and a half months? Easy. Only 6 and a half months til we get to eat the top tier of our wedding cake.

There it sits in the freezer. Taunting us with its promised deliciousness. Every time I go in there I see it, sitting in the back, waiting patiently for the day of its liberation. It knows it's got it goin' on, so no need to rush a good thing. I merely nod, paying my respects, and close the freezer door before it notices the drool dripping down my chin. I don't want it to see me like that, it would be too embarassing. My husband, however, is not quite so patient and has asked me more than once how much longer we have to wait to thaw that baby out. When I'm jonesing for something sweet and there's nothing in the house, I swear a little glowy light radiates from the freezer.

I'm not sure what makes it hurt more: the fact that we didn't get to have more than that one little bite we fed each other at the wedding, or the fact that we've eaten cake from Stock's before and know just how delicious it is. That's right, you Philly people. It's a Stock's cake. And Stock's doesn't mess around. Perhaps if I didn't know what was awaiting me (and if I wasn't such a porker, if we're being honest here), these next 6 and a half months wouldn't seem so lengthy.

Good thing our anniversary is a Saturday. We might just need Sunday to recuperate from the sugar hangover. And to clean up, because I don't see this as being neat when it finally goes down.

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