The Great Cake Debaucle

Next year, I'm baking the dang cake.

Saturday, Mom and I drove across town to pick up the flippin' gazillion dollar birthday cake and 3 "smash" cakes from some bakery that has been in business since Frank Sinatra was singing in the casinos. They were supposed to be ready at 10am.

Supposed.

I get there, wait in line because there must be something magical in their coffee because that's all that people were buying. So I finally get to the front and give them my name, and out comes the cake. Without names. Wrong.

No problem Bakery Lady tells me. They will just write everything on plastic and STICK IT on top. So I snarled at her and said fine, but I am still missing 3 cakes. She brings out 2 and one is wrong. At this point I'm ready to fling an apple turnover at her head. She takes it to the back and gets it fixed. Still missing a smash cake.

I almost bonked her in the head with some day old french bread. I have been standing in bakery from hell for 45 minutes with screwed up cakes and one that is MIA. FINALLY she brings it out and tells me she will help me to the car.

My keys are gone.

Right then and there, I rationalized breaking the car window if they were locked inside. But no, they weren't. In fact, I never even locked the door. Oh, and my cell phone is dead.

So I stood there, in the middle of the bakery, with Bakery Lady pretty sure I was going to have a breakdown and start showering the place with flour and pecan twirls when Mr. Very Old Man came in.

He had thieved my keys. Allegedly after he bought his challah bread he grabbed any set of keys within a 5 mile radius and claimed them as his own. So Bakery Lady gave me some free sticky buns and a hug and scooted me out of the store and sent me on my way.

All that, and the cakes were not even the buttercream delights they had been touted to be.